


Shepard of the High Seas

by Kelenloth



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Atlantis, Cult of Cthulhu, F/F, Gen, HMS Normandy, Human AU, I promise, Lovecraftian, Pirates, cross dressing, eldritch horror, historical fiction - Freeform, romance later, royal navy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2020-10-25 18:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 81,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20728436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelenloth/pseuds/Kelenloth
Summary: Historical fiction AU: When the maiden voyage of the 'HMS Normandy', is waylaid by a terrible storm, Commander Shepard discovers something far worse than pirates which threaten the seas and life itself. Now she must find a way to convince the world of an ancient terror and stop it before it wakes from it's house at R'lyeh.This is what happens when one of your friends says "Mass Effect", another says "Pirates", and you say "Cthulhu". And it's gotten very out of hand. Come for the naval aesthetic, stay for the romance cut with eldritch horror.





	1. Court Summons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to miceenscene, itsnatunusual , and chemicallywrit for all their help inspiring this work and helping it come together.

_G__EORGE, by the grace of God King of Great Britain & Ireland, Defender of the Faith, etc. To the Sheriff of Westminster, _Captain A. Bailey,_ I_ _do hereby command that you summon _Commander J. H. Shepard_ of my Royal Navy_ _to appear before our Royal Naval Administrative Court upon the fourth Thursday of this month to answer in regard to the matter of _General Saren Arterius of the Ottoman Empire, _and have thus sent this word through Venari Pallin, clerk of our said court this 21st day of March in the vii year of our Reign 1720._

_ V. Pallin _

Shepard sighed. “Again?” She folded the small parchment and shoved it into her inner coat pocket.

“I’m afraid so, Commander.” Captain Bailey shrugged, his deep voice betraying that he was about as tired of being asked to deliver her court summons as she was of receiving them.

“What more could they possibly want to ask me?” Shepard asked, as she had asked the last three times Bailey had come to serve a summons notice. He shook his head in silence, as he always did.

“Well then,” Shepard added simply, “Tea?” She stepped aside to allow the Police Captain into her small townhouse.

“Thank you, Commander, I would welcome a break,” Bailey responded, in a pattern which had by now been comfortably established, and stepped inside.

It was not every day that the Police Captain personally delivered court summons, and not every day that he took tea with the witness-stroke-suspect of an open investigation. But Shepard’s case was far from everyday.

“Kettle’s on,” she commented as she went to fetch the tray. Bailey made himself comfortable in her small living space, taking a stool by the fire. The room was relatively spartan; the temporary living space of a junior officer, although ‘temporary’ was becoming an ever more relative term.

He sighed and stretched, setting aside his Captain's hat, “You know, no one else ever invites me for tea,” he muttered ryely as Shepard returned. 

“You mean no one else welcomes the, what is this, seventh summons? In three months?” Shepard took her seat across from him, reclining on the simple wooden chair that normally served her writing desk. “What _ will _you do when they finally see fit to leave me alone?”

“At this rate, I’ll have retired by then.”

Shepard merely hummed a response, drowned by the whistle of the kettle hung over the fire. She filled the teapot and a comfortable silence filled the room along with the pleasant smell. It was these moments that Shepard really enjoyed. She had met Bailey a few months back, and had seen more of the Police Captain than any innocent person should. But she appreciated his frank longsuffering, and he appreciated her lack of put-on airs in the face of the bureaucrats with which he had to deal every day. And in a place like the Administrative Courts, even a little camaraderie went a long way.

“Really, though, Bailey, any idea what’s going on? Off the record, and all that,” She broke the silence at length and poured their tea.

“You know these knobs,” Bailey offered. “They don’t need a reason to bug the likes of you and me. But there is something new this time, or someone. Some high up or some such. I haven’t met him, but he’s already a pain in my ass.”

“Let me guess,” Shepard interrupted, “They want me to tell him everything I already told the last four supervisors, because he can’t be bothered to read their notes.”

“Sounds like it.” Bailey had a way of shrugging the communicated even more than his dead tone the resignation behind his word. “Maybe they’re just keeping this up to make sure I get some tea,” He made a satisfied noise as he took a sip.

At that, Shepard laughed. “No offence, Bailey, but I’d rather be back at sea. ‘On leave’ my ass. They should either have you arrest me, or give me back my command.”

“Mmm. None taken,” Bailey took another drink of his tea. “I hear that repairs on the _ Normandy _are nearly complete.” Shepard raised an eyebrow. “What? I keep up. I saw her when you brought her in, too. Nasty stuff.”

“You’ve no idea,” Shepard was suddenly far away.

“More idea than those ‘Investigators’ who can’t be satisfied with what they’ve got.”

Shepard nodded, but did not seem to return; her eyes cast unfocused towards the wall behind him.

“Listen, I should be going, Shepard. Thanks for the tea.”

“Of course,” Shepard snapped back to life. “I’m sure I’ll see you on Thursday, Captain.”

“Well, either you make sure of it, or I have to,” Bailey joked, “I’ll see you then.”

\----------------

“With respect, Lord Chancellor, I can only say this so many times and in so many ways. I have told you everything I know on the matter and have sworn before God and man: The last time I saw General Arterius he was most definitely alive, and was, by his own testimony, on his way to see the Ambassador. How it came about that he did not arrive at that goal, I do not know, and what I do not know, I cannot say. You may not wish to believe me, Chancellor, but you will gain nothing else from me but this truth, as extensive and plain as I can form into words.”

Shepard stared at him, unblinking, for a long moment, trying to make the statement sound as final as she could. He pressed her anyway.

“I understand, Commander,” Lord Chancellor Udina nodded slowly, as if he did in fact understand. In his hands was a fine porcelain teacup and saucer; a more effective weapon and shield in the right hands than any blade. “Know that neither I nor anyone here is accusing you of anything. I have read your statement, but given the… sensitive nature of this case, thought it best to hear it from you myself.” Of course he did. “And so, if you will, let us start at the beginning.”

Shepard took a deep breath and let it out, resisting the urge to fidget with the firm cravat scratching her throat. “Very well,” She began on what was the sixth - no, seventh - official retelling of her statement in three months. But who was counting?

Shepard started with the facts, as she always did. It was an account she had at this point all but memorized. “On the Seventh day of November the _ HMS Normandy _set sail from London on her maiden voyage; a transatlantic journey to conduct General Arterius of the Ottoman Empire to the British colonies in the Americas, which, I am told, he was to tour. The ship had been entrusted to my command by Admiral Anderson -“

“Is it normal for someone of your rank to be entrusted with such a command?”

Shepard blinked, momentarily stunned by the interruption of her now much rehearsed tale. “I suppose you would have to ask the Admiral, Chancellor. It was not a command which I selected myself.” If Udina recognized the disdain in her tone, he did not show it.

“The _ Normandy _is a fourth-rate frigate, with almost fifty guns, Commander.” He pressed, as if she did not know.

“Yes.”

“To be in command over such a vessel at your age and before attaining the rank of Captain is…” The weight of Shepard’s glare seemed to finally be having an effect. “Unusual.” 

“Again, Chancellor, I would defer to the Admiral.” Shepard sidestepped the obvious challenge to her fitness. “May I continue?”

He nodded, and Shepard felt that life was won in these small victories.

“We had nine days of smooth sailing before the weather took a sharp and unexpected turn - as sharp an unexpected as I have ever witnessed. That area, though vast, is normally placid, almost to the point of doldrum, save in the case of a hurricane, which any seaman could tell you would be most out of season.”

Lord Chancellor Udina was not even taking notes. He sipped his tea as she recounted.

“It was just about sunset when we first spotted the clouds, which came up suddenly from the northwest. I elected to take watch that evening, and it wasn’t long after we needed every hand on deck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how long this fic will go. At the moment, I plan on posting a chapter a week for 10 weeks, and then taking a break to see where I'm at.


	2. Storm Tossed

“All hands!” Shepard shouted as Seaman Jenkins frantically rang the ship’s bell. “All hands on deck!” It already hurt to shout above the howling wind and pounding rain, but she knew it would only get worse. “Bosun! Strike the mainsails!” She caught herself on the railing as the ship pitched down again. Moreau was at the helm, thank God. She never would have trusted it to another hand at such a time. But no matter the helmsman’s skill, it would be a rough night.

The sun had set only an hour ago, but the incoming clouds bore none of its beautiful pink and orange hues. The wind had changed, then, at odds with itself, driving at once sharply northwest even as it blew the towering clouds southeast to meet them. Shepard had sailed these seas before, and studied her charts diligently. There shouldn’t be such a cross current here. But it did not matter. What mattered was the storm. Just as the stars began to emerge their light was blocked by the mighty front rolling in.

Running was out of the question. The storm was too close and too sudden; they didn’t even know which way it was heading for sure. And so as the rain had started the crew of the _ HMS Normandy _battened down all hatches and double reefed the sails. But as was becoming increasingly obvious, it wasn’t enough. And with the light of day rapidly dying, their options were quickly running out.

The ship lurched up again as Shepard descended to the main deck, grabbing one of the huge lines behind the row of her men and hauling hard and in time. There was only so much a Commander could do in a storm like this, and it helped no one to sit and shout when she could lend a hand.

Lightning flashed and Shepard looked up, thunder tumbling mere moments after the shock of light. The sky was dark now, the blanket of cloud reflecting only the dimmest orange glow of the fully set sun. It would be a dark night indeed.

“Haul! Haul!” Chief Warrant Officer Pressley, normally the ship’s navigator, shouted over the rain, having given up on anything less straightforward as he aided the men. 

For what seemed like hours the crew worked hard, lashed with heavy rain and tossed to and fro as Seaman Moreau attempted to save them from capsizing. The waves were getting worse. Much worse.

“Brace!” Shepard was in the midst of shouting as a giant, frigid wave crashed onto the deck and over her, threatening to wash her off her feet. She stumbled back to the upper deck stairs and drug herself up, trying to assess their situation in the approaching dark.

As she watched, it only got darker. Shepard looked up, and it was just then that the first flicker of doubt passed through her mind - doubt that this was in any sense a normal storm. The existence of the storm was itself a shock, but a natural one. The waves were something else, but then they were at sea. But what she saw in the sky though turned Shepard’s blood colder than the winter winds berating them. As she looked through the last gap in the low clouds behind them, Shepard spotted the gloriously full moon shining overhead. She watched in the following minutes as a large shadow began to cover it: Not the shadowed form of a cloud betwixt them, but a shadow cast on the moon itself.

“An eclipse?” Her First Mate, Lieutenant Alenko, joined her and followed her gaze. Even standing right next to her he had to shout to be heard.

“Looks like it,” Shepard shouted back. “God save us.” she added under her breath. “This is only going to get worse.”

And worse was what it got. The waves - dark, undulating mountains surrounding them on all sides - promised death. The wind and rain only got stronger, if that were possible; pounding and clawing dangerously on the little sail they had left, and making the deck treacherous. Worst of all, the darkness was only growing more profound. Although she had ordered lanterns be lit on the bow, stern, and main mast, their faint golden glow was hardly visible through the rain, and did almost nothing to beat back the darkness. As the eclipse continued and the clouds packed closer the dark of night became almost entire, broken only by the shocking flash of lightning.

What else these flashes illuminated was enough to wash even the most hardened sailor with fear. Giant waves which had no business being this far at sea rose all around, their monstrous forms slamming them up, down, and sideways. More than once Shepard thought the _ Normandy _surely gone. She found herself muttering prayers as she worked to gain any sort of hold on the situation, and lend any aid to her helmsman.

Amid the deafening thunder, Shepard then heard the words she least wanted to hear, and they stung like ice in her veins: “Man overboard!”

Seemingly the entire crew rushed starboard, and Shepard flew down to meet them. “Who?” She shouted, staring out in the dark. 

It was Midshipman Vega who had called the alarm. “Jenkins, sir!” He replied.

There was nothing. No sign of life in the rolling dark. Shepard’s stomach dropped as the seconds ticked on. Beside her crewmen hollarded Jenkin’s name, moving up and down the deck with the hope of spotting anything in the crushing dark. But they all knew the truth: He was gone. There was nothing they could do.

“Back to your posts.” Shepard commanded weakly, maintaining her own vigil over the waves.

“Commander, we need to start bailing the lower decks if we-” Lieutenant Williams’ voice at her elbow broke Shepard’s trance at last.

“Do it.” She nodded to her Second Mate, who gathered men away from their futile search and back to work.

Shepard had sustained losses. She had sustained far more losses on board than most. But never before from a ship in which she was in command. There was, of course, a first time for everything. Hers, it seemed, came early.

Thunder crashed again, not a moment behind another great series of flashes, as Shepard resumed her position on the quarterdeck. She did not have time to think more on Jenkin’s horrid death now. Not with the lives of the rest of her crew in her hands.

“Hold on, Commander!” Helmsman Moreau greeted her. She obeyed on instinct, clutching the railing as he pulled them into a sharp turn, pitching down towards the waves. Both of the experienced mariners knew that their only hope of survival was to keep the ship plowing through each wave. But they were coming from all directions, it seemed. With mainsails furled, it was difficult to keep momentum, but Moreau was doing his damndest.

“Hold on!” Moreau bellowed again. What looked like a tsunami was headed for their port side bow when she heard it: The first sickening, terrible crack of something far worse than thunder. She looked up to see the reefed topsail blown almost sideways, but she did not have time to address it. Before them the gargantuan wave swelled, higher and higher until it consumed her vision, first drawing the ship in and tipping it dangerously down as it hung over them like a cliff, then drawing them back up just as it crashed down to meet them, a wall of water careening over the deck, reaching even high up on the mast. Shepard held onto the wheel and to her helmsman as the wave hit them even on the raised deck. Another gust followed it down before they even had time to breath, this time ripping first right then left in rapid succession. Moreau groaned with the effort of manning the wheel, and Shepard leaned in to help him turn the ship again, as if by their will alone they could keep her upright. They both looked up as they heard another terrible, splintering creak in the dark night. The chilling sound shook her to her core, and would haunt her nightmares thereafter.

“Look out!” Shepard cried desperately, “Look out below!” but in the dark she could not even see who she shouted to, she just prayed that the rest of the crew knew what was coming. 

Lightning flashed again in time with thunder, this time so close and so loud Shepard was never fully sure it had not struck the ship. Perhaps it had. For in that moment, silhouetted perfectly by the awful flash, came the sound and scene Shepard dreaded most. With another tremendous crack, the entire main mast came crashing down.

It was in that moment that Shepard became certain that she and her entire crew were going to die. It was not the first time in her life that she had come to such a surety, but she now felt sure it would be her last. She had survived the bloody bay of Akuze only to be drowned by a freak storm in the Atlantic. The mast had shattered, about half way between the first and second beam, and the giant structure had collapsed: A crushing mass of timber, rope, and canvas. The weight of it was enough to damage the deck, she knew but could not yet see. She prayed no one had been under the mast or its rigging when it tumbled down. But she was never that lucky.

Now she had a choice. Attempt to save and salvage the damage, but have the huge logs trailing beside or behind them by the rigging, likely banging against their sides, possibly tearing the hold points, and definitely unbalancing the ship, or cut all losses now and risk crashing into their own jetsom. It was not a call she had time to consider.

“Axes!” She shouted, striving to be heard over the rolling drums of thunder surrounding them. “Sever ties! Cast it off!” It would make the ship lighter, which was the opposite of what she wanted in waves this high, but it was better than knocking a hole in the hull.

Shepard descended to the main deck again to assist in the frantic fight to sacrifice the fallen mast. It was dangerous work in the wind and waves, and even more dangerous in the absolute dark.

It took what felt like a lifetime of hacking axes and heavy rope slithering and pulling taught all over the chaos of the deck, but by the light of lightning they at last accomplished their terrible goal. It hurt to feel accomplishment at such an unfortunate task. Without the main mast, they were all but finished. Even if they somehow survived this night, their transatlantic journey was at an end less than a fortnight after leaving port. Shepard did not have time to think on this, however, as the storm raged on.

“Keep her steady!” She shouted fruitlessly to the helmsman, as if he had much choice in the matter at this point.

The _ Normandy _’s situation did not improve with the loss of her main mast. If anything, it got worse. With even less purchase with which to steer, even Able Seaman Moreau’s best efforts had them flying, slamming, twisting around like a rag doll. Moments of terror filled weightlessness, each threatening to flip them, followed by bone-rattling impacts, leaving nothing to do but pray.

Looking back, the rest of the storm was a blur: A blur of pitch black terror, of plunging up and down over and under endless towering waves. A blur of having the breath forced from her lungs again and again as cold salt water washed her. Of shouting herself hoarse over the wind. Of holding on for dear life, and trying to make sure that the crew were able to do the same. In the end the ship did not capsize, and that in itself was a miracle. The storm finally broke just before the dawn, but not without taking its toll.

\-----------------------------------------

“Two good men lost their lives that night.” Shepard recounted. “And I thank God it was only two: Seaman Jenkins, and Chief Warrant Officer Pressley, our Navigator. He was struck in the head when the mainmast fell, and despite Doctor Chakwas’ best effort, he did not survive the night.”

A moment of silence filled the small chamber. Not all of the nearby assistants or secretaries were here about Shepard’s case, but they all had stopped to listen.

“With the break of dawn, in the finally still water, we performed rites for them, and buried Officer Pressley at sea.” Shepard had been mostly been looking at the nearly untouched cup of tea before her as she spoke. Now her eyes seemed affixed to it. At length she continued. “It fell to Pressley’s mate, young Mr. Traynor, to take up his roll, and I ordered all but a skeleton shift to bed.”

“And where was the General, Commander?” Shepard’s brow knot at the question. She had no idea. It was hard to remember anything from that night beyond the rain and the fear.

“General Arterius was either among my crew or he was in his cabin, probably trying not to be sick.” Shepard’s voice held no levity at the remark. The General had acclimated to sea life surprisingly poorly in the nine days leading up to the storm. She wouldn’t have begrudged him staying safely - or with what relative safety he could manage - indoors. “In the dark, I did not see him. But I can assure you that he survived the hurricane - if hurricane is what it was. I spoke with the General the following morning, and he seemed remarkably well, considering.”


	3. The Island

“Land ho!” The distant call brought a crease to Commander Shepard’s brow. For one beautiful moment she allowed herself to live in the fantasy that they were about to arrive in port, safe home in England, or in the colonies, or wherever it was they were going.

“Land ho, Captain!” A quick banging and First Lieutenant Alenko’s voice at her door rapidly brought back the reality of their situation. The terrible crash of the main mast echoed in her mind, and threw her out of the comfort of her bed quicker than any knocking on her door might.

Shepard tried to forcibly shake the lingering exhaustion from her head. After the chaos of the previous night she had remained awake as long as she dared, anxious that the storm might return. Jenkins and Presley’s rushed funeral hung heavy on her mind. It was the first of such rites she had ever been asked to preside over. Something told her it would not be the last. Eventually Doctor Chakwas had all but ordered her to bed, and she had fallen in, exhausted and still soaked to the bone.

She would need a change of uniform. It was a process that took her slightly longer than most, but she had gotten pretty good at it after twelve years in the navy. At least now she had the privacy of a cabin. The routine action of dressing allowed her time to think as well. Land ho, was it? What land? She glanced at her charts, or where her charts ought to be. They had clearly fallen off of her desk in the storm. In any case, there shouldn’t be any land anywhere near their last known location. How off course could that storm have left them? She had to see this. Stopping for one last moment to tie her hair securely behind her and don her hat, she took a deep breath and pressed her way out into daylight.

Alenko was waiting for her. He pressed a spyglass into her hand as she stepped out of her cabin, but he did not need to point out in which direction she ought to look. The sailors were already pressing close on the port side railing to get a look. Shepard ascended to the top deck with Alenko on her heels. “We haven’t been able to gain a reliable latitude, as the cloud cover has not let up. I’ve… no idea what Island that could be.”

“Make for it.” Shepard ordered without hesitation. Their lack of a main mast hung heavily on her mind. Nine days at sea with full sail and good winds, plus wherever the storm had taken them. Even if they turned back to England right now, it might take them weeks to limp their way back to safe harbor. They had the rations for it, luckily, but a chance to deboard and get a closer look at the damage could not be passed up. As she stowed the spyglass she glanced at the sky again, anxious that the lingering clouds might betray her.

Alenko and Williams got the sailors in order to unfurl what sail they had left, and Shepard went to inform her sole passenger of their change in course.

“General Arterius.” She stopped just outside of his cabin door. She had just opened her mouth to call him again when the portal opened. “Ah. General Arterius.” She greeted him with a smile. “I apologize for not checking in with you last night. As you could tell, I-”

“That’s alright, Commander,” he cut her off. He was as always immaculately dressed, but his rough voice betrayed how little sleep he had gotten through the night. “I can’t say I enjoyed the experience, but I am glad to see we made it out alive. Much to the credit of you and your men.”

“Yes, well, alive is as much as we can wish for. Alive and afloat.” She answered more stiffly than she meant. She walked with him towards the main deck, where preparations to sail were underway. “Although as you can see,” she gestured to the tall stump of the mast, and the huge dent it had left in the deck “Not entirely whole.”

“I don’t have much experience at sea, Commander, but I must say, that looks bad.”

“It does,” she agreed. “And I’m afraid it means a drastic change of course, General. There is no way we could make it to the Americas without repairs.”

“...I see.” She heard General Arterius pause a moment before he replied, looking the remnants of the mast up and down. “A most unfortunate turn of events. But, I suppose, if it cannot be helped.”

“I know this means a substantial delay of your tour, General, for which I deeply apologize.”

“You did what you could, Commander,” he assured her. “I must ask, are, uh… Are all storms in the Atlantic like that?”

Shepard gave a dry laugh. “None that I have ever seen, General, of that you can be sure. Have no doubt that your next crossing will be smoother. In any case,” she gestured for him to their destination as they reached the top deck and handed him her spyglass. “We’ve spotted an island nearby. If we can identify it, it would give us a reliable location. And if we cannot, well, we’ll have a new land to add to our charts.” She said with a smile, trying to point out the silver lining of the deadly storm. “Assuming these clouds break long enough for us to gain our bearings, of course. Would you like to accompany the landing party?”

“Of course, Commander! I would be honored.” He handed back her spyglass.

The general was a tall man of dark and stern appearance, but she had found him have a good nature, and a piercing intellect. She could tell even from their short time together that he had a serious, calculating mind, which probably accounted for his long and storied military career. Nevertheless he was gracious and on the whole more optimistic than she expected, for one whose first transatlantic journey had taken such a terrible turn. His bright and colorful uniform, complete with blue and white striped turban, looked immaculate, and she suspected his cabin probably looked the same, storm-tossed as it was.

“I will look forward to stretching my legs on stable ground.” The General added, and Shepard returned his small smile.

It was difficult to tell what time of day it was, or how long she had been asleep. A thick blanket of cloud hung between them and the sun, diffusing it’s light and the shadows it cast. But for the crew’s benefit, soon came the most important time-marker of the day: the mess bell. Shepard did not even realize how hungry she was, or how long it had been since she had eaten, until she turned to see Seaman Gardner triumphantly announcing that a meal was ready - he did not even announce which one. The crew cheered all the same. It was about time for some good news.

\-----------------------------------------

“We arrived at the island a few hours later and deboarded. Leaving our chief Carpenter, Mr. Adams to attend to what damage he could, General Arterius, Lieutenants Alenko and Williams, and myself journeyed inland, to try and gain some higher ground and, if possible, identity our location.” She took a sip of her lukewarm tea.

Udina, for once, remained silent. Shepard knew he had questions, or he would very soon.

“I trust my report has thusfar matched my last six reports, Chancellor.” She preempted. Udina merely nodded. Of course, the man only felt like talking when he could interrupt her. “Before I continue, I must entreat you to believe what I have to say and take it seriously. Or at very least do not preclude it at the outset. Not only because it is the truth, but because it is a more dangerous truth than I have ever known. If you seek to gain anything from hearing my tale first hand, I hope I may convey to you what no one else in this court has been willing to hear, and what both I and General Arterius came that day to know: That this world is under threat, Chancellor, and that action must be taken.”

Shepard returned her piercing glare to the man before her, and this time he held it. Silence reigned for several heartbeats, before Udina finally replied.

“I am here for the truth, Commander.” His voice stoic, his face betraying nothing. “Please, carry on.”

——————————————

The damage had not looked too bad, Shepard tried to tell herself as she and her shore party walked away. They were tremendously lucky that the mast was all the storm had taken. The mast, and Jenkins, and Pressly, that was. The mast, and Jenkins, and Pressly, and any sense of direction or location they had ever had.

This island was not helping. It was unlike any land that Shepard had seen before. Unlike any land any of them had seen before. The land was, in a sense, mountainous. If one could call the damp, barren stone which undulated steadily but precariously upward ‘mountains’. They seemed almost more like petrified waves. The ground did appear to be of stone, or something like it, but was covered in a thick, putrid mire throughout, so that instead of setting down on tropical, palm-shaded sand, the explorers were forced to slog through slick and heavy mud, ankle deep at times, of the sort which appeared solid until it failed to stop one’s foot from sinking through.

Also notable was the smell. This alone might have caused lesser men to turn back, but the curious team forged on. The entire island reeked of fish, and several still living and in various states of sun-baked decay littered and flopped along the grim shore. Despite this, no sea birds had yet come to the ready feast, nor had they seen any other sign of life.

It was as if the silty floor of the ocean had itself risen to meet them in a monstrous peak, exposing that which ought never to see the sun to the garish light of day. As they made their slow progress to its summit through curious and treacherous paths never before trod by man, the Commander could not help voice her growing suspicions that such a remarkable upheaval might literally have occured: That some as of yet unheard seismic or volcanic activity may have just the previous night produced the noxious land on which they now stood, thrusting it up from the depths. Such an event might even explain the storm, or at least the severity of its waves. If the Atlantic depths had suddenly met with a violently forthcoming shore, then they were lucky that giant waves were all that had formed, and that merely wind and water beset them, and not flame and ash.

Perhaps that was what the mire really was, Alenko suggested as they hiked higher into the hills: Wet and heavy ash. It was not a comforting thought, to be ascending what was likely an extremely freshly active volcano. The crew could not help but look for smoke, or imagine rivers of lava where there were none. The mire now coating their feet and legs was as cold as could be expected of a wet November morning, but none of them fancied knowing what lay beneath.

The clouds had still not parted. Shepard felt that the sun’s warmth would have helped solidify the newborn ground beneath their feet, and more importantly, it would give them some indication of where they were. But as the night before had proved, Shepard never had that kind of luck. Without sight of the sun all they could assess was that England was indeed north and west, and which way those directions were. Back on the ship the newly appointed navigator would struggle to calculate an accurate latitude. Mr. Traynor always had a knack for these things, but there was only so much he could do. All the same, Shepard was confident he would do well in the role, even as young as he was.

They were making halting progress upward when they encountered a thin crevice, narrow enough to force the party into single file line. Shepard took the lead, and felt along the steep walls for potential handholds by which she might surmount the edifice. The stone was damp and dark, but thankfully not coated in the ashen sludge which had filled the shore. It was smooth and straight, until she came upon a thin vertical fissure. Following it up with her fingertips, she found a perpendicular line met it, forming a perfect ‘T’.

Shepard gasped as realization dawned. This was not a fissure, it was a seam. She followed the lines again, continuing until her fingers traced the outline of a massive stone block, with geometric and even sides, stacked on top of more of the same in a distinct and familiar pattern. This was not a cliff but an actual wall: the construction of some ancient and precise mason. Had the space allowed she would have taken a step back. As it was, the General and Lieutenants stared back at her.

“Commander?” Arterius prompted at last.

“This was man made.” Shepard informed them, although even as she said it, the thought of men who could cut and move slabs of this magnitude astounded her.

The party responded incredulously, and each felt along the cold wall, but none could dispute it. With the discovery, theories must be reconsidered, and the unvoiced question of whether they were truly alone on this barren but possibly ancient and uncharted shore hung heavy in the air.

Williams and Alenko had brought their muskets, out of protocol, and Shepard was sure that the General had at least his pistol, as did she, and all ranking officers wore swords. She hoped that their geographical search had turned into a merely archeological, rather than sociological venture.

Shepard tried to put these thoughts out of mind as she continued to lead them out the other side of the tight space and further inland, but now that the first discovery had been made she could not help from seeing more. The chasm lead to an open space sloping upward amidst the odd hills. But when she turned back east, towards the island’s highest point, it did not take much inspection to see that it was not a hillside she stepped up, but a series of large, even stair steps hewn from the drying rock.

The sailors exchanged glances as they made their way up, at once relieved to find such passable terrain and shocked at what it might mean.

Shepard found herself taking the steps faster and faster the further up she climbed, with General Arterius keeping pace. Even as she rose step by step, Shepard wanted to deny it. She must have been inventing the signs of habitation, seeing what was not there. Besides, Mother Nature was not completely adverse to neat geometry. Parts of the coasts of Scotland and Ireland, she had herself seen, were constructed of perfect hexagonal columns of basalt. Perhaps that was all this was.

The steep stairs continued up the eastward slope, higher and higher, until finally levelling out. They had reached the island mountain’s peak.

Shepard and Arterius both stopped and stared, open-mouthed, at what they found there, as any doubts of previous habitation dashed at their feet.

Before them stood undeniable proof: A structure, maybe fifteen meters tall, and hundreds of feet deep and across. Its construction seemed even more ancient than the squared wall and steps; huge cyclopean boulders piled one on another, shining dry and white against the black, mired stone. Their shapes were far from regular, but had doubtless been stacked by intelligent hands, although how those hands may have done so remained astonishing. The building appeared rectangular, or as if it had once been rectangular, but did not reflect any style Shepard had seen, nor Arterius, the General confirmed. Nevertheless, it gave off a singular impression by which everyone present instinctually agreed on what the building had been: a temple.

The temple was far from intact. The ceiling in particular, which once must have been a tall majestic crown supported by countless pillars and massive, thick walls, had completely collapsed, and huge but broken blocks now lay scattered amid snapped and toppled pillars and punctured walls. Shepard had never seen the Parthenon of Athens or the Minoan ruins of Crete, but she imagined that they might look like this.

Despite the ancient air of the apparent temple, something about the silent scene still emanated unease.

“Spread out and look around.” Shepard ordered her Lieutenants. “Search for anything to identify this place, and for any sign of life.”

“Yes sir.” Her first and second mates nodded and each took a side of the structure, investigating its left and right flank.

Shepard tried to look around, tried to turn away from her inevitable goal and see first her surroundings. They had reached the summit, and she now had a commanding view of the sea’s vast and unfathomable expanse before her, including the injured _HMS Normandy_ still tethered just off the island’s shore. Even still, it was difficult to turn away from the sight of the temple. She looked to General Arterius and found he was doing much the same; sharp, curious eyes fixed on the structure.

“General,” she approached, and could tell before he spoke what would be his reply.

“We ought to look inside, Commander.” He fulfilled her expectation. “The front entrance appears blocked, but I see an opening just there”

“I’m right behind you.” Shepard gestured and Arterius led on.

The echoing silence of that place was oppressive, and their progress was slow. But at least the stone was finally dry. It was an odd sensation, to rest her hand on stones placed by men and yet untouched for unknown centuries or millennia. It was almost stranger for the stone to merely feel like any other cold, weathered rock. They exchanged theories as they searched; whether it was some cataclysm of ancient days or centuries spent under miles of waves which left the building in such disarray. They worked hard to clear a path through the wreckage; at times clamoring over large obstacles and at others joining forces to shove smaller stones out of their way. Besides the fallen debris, however, the room seemed empty, with no obvious remaining indication of what purpose the space may have served, or who made it.

The walls, Arterius supposed, seemed Mycenaean, thought they were significantly farther out to sea. Perhaps a tribute to Neptune or Poseidon, or some other such deity which had suffered an ironic if picturesque fate.

The further back into the ruin they explored, the further it appeared to go. And despite the largely collapsed roof, the darker it seemed. What was more, it was not only the roof which had failed. Clamoring up and over and under it was difficult to keep track, but Shepard had the distinct impression that they were now well below the original floor. As she could still look up and see sky, it was hard to call the space underground, but she had lost all sense of direction in the labyrinth but up and down. The General seemed to have no better idea than she, but led on nonetheless.

Leaving him to choose a route and direction left Shepard time to more closely inspect the ancient stone. Something about its aspect began to repulse her. It was not the mire, for that had all but dried, and the stench she had grown accustomed to in the unknown hours of their ascent. She was no expert, but as they journeyed farther into the temple and below it, the weathered stone felt like it was getting older. She recognized the mark of tools now, but nothing that could give any indication of their creators, or of the island’s location or origin.

“We should rejoin the others.” She suggested at length. “We will want to make it back down before dark.”

Arterius was silent for some time, but had reached what appeared to be a dead end, deep within the temple where the ceiling collapse had been particularly severe. “Perhaps this place must remain a mystery.” He nodded his aquiessence with a sigh and began to make for the way they had come. Shepard stopped him.

“Wait.” She stepped forward and peered down, eyes fixed as if in a trance.

“Commander?”

“I think something is written here,” Shepard pointed to a particularly large and almost perfectly rectangular block which may have once been a massive pillar, now shattered.

At a glance, she had seen a series of tooled marks in the stone, deeper than the others, and although she could not imagine what such shapes might mean, the unidentified sigils bore a regularity akin to language.

“Help me clear this off,” She and the General both reached to uncover the hieroglyphs, and in an instant, everything changed.


	4. The Beacon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains strong elements of horror and graphic depictions of violence. Take care!

The room had gone dark. Plunged in one moment from cloud-filtered sunlight to pitch black. All smell of the mire was gone, replaced with something cold, musty, and just about as unpleasant. Shepard could still feel the rough hewn stone under her hand, feel the strange runes etched there-in.

“General?” She asked the darkness, trying to force her eyes to adjust.

“I’m here Commander. What do you think has happened?”

Shepard looked up to where the sky should be, but found nothing. She reached out for where she remembered a wall, but found none. “Where are we?”

“I think I see something,” Shepard raised her hand by instinct to cover her eyes as a sudden green light shone in front of her. Squinting, she saw General Arterius holding what appeared to be some sort of lantern, a sphere which glowed a dull sea-green. It did little to illuminate their surroundings, but what little it did show was enough.

“What is this place?” Shepard ran her hand up the carved pillar - now higher than she had seen it before. Intact, and unworn. She still could make nothing of the runes under her fingers, but she could see them now, etched deep and extending all the way from floor to ceiling. Ceiling. There was a ceiling now. How was there a ceiling?

By the light of Arterius’ lantern Shepard found her own. It lit at her touch, although she did not know how, and showed more pillars surrounding them, although none as large or intricately carved as the one. It was difficult to tear her eyes from the strange markings upon it - some appeared linguistic, others pictorial, and none familiar. They seemed to play games with the weird light, as did the blotchy and stained stone floor. As their eyes adjusted, it became more evident that they must be in some sort of undercroft. The ceiling was constructed almost entirely of low arches, with thick round pillars dotted every few feet, surrounding the one great, central obelisk.

“Look here, Shepard.” Arterius called from some way down the passage, “Stairs.”

The steps lead them up to a large door, cold and metallic, carved in somewhat more abstract designs which reminded Shepard of celtic knots, if the knots had no symmetry or direction to their tangled lines.

“On three.” Shepard counted down, and they shoved together at the heavy door, which gave to their effort.

“Woah.” It was not very articulate, but it was the only word either could find as they stumbled forward into an echoing, tiled hall. More pillars stood here, though significantly fewer, and significantly taller. All were painted with bright red and rich blue, gold, black, and white throughout, illuminated by square cut windows high above their heads, casting golden sunbeams where specks of hanging dust danced. This was, it was now more clear than ever, a temple indeed. Or at very least some sort of formal assembly space, with room enough for hundreds if not thousands. At the moment, however, they seemed quite alone.

Hundreds of questions chased each other through Shepard’s brain. What was this place, and how had they gotten here? Even through the paint the cyclopean architecture stood out, and Shepard worked to reconstruct in her mind the ruined temple they had walked through before, struggling to align it to the magnificent building in which they found themselves now. The only explanation which suggested itself was that the two were somehow one and the same, but if that was the case, what of the island? And what of their party, Lieutenants Alenko and Williams? She felt to make sure that her pistol and saber were still at her side, and glanced to see that Arterius had the same. The man, normally so practical and piercing, gazed upwards at the painted roof in awe-struck abandon, mouth agape. They had made a discovery, alright. Shepard just wasn’t sure yet what it was.

Up ahead Shepard saw another large door, tall but square, with an intricate golden lintel stone depicting what might have been a god, but was nothing she could recognize. Something like a dragon, or like a squid, or somehow both at once.

“Arterius, with me.” She called him out of his trance as she reached the huge marble door, which appeared this time to open inward. A large handle was carved into the stone, somewhat higher than it should have been, forcing both the General and Commander to reach up close to head-height to grab hold, but together they wrenched the large door open.

A swift sea breeze flooded the stale room as the explorers emerged, blinking, into the blinding light of day. They stared, open mouthed, and found it was not a day the likes of which they had ever seen.

They stood, Shepard knew despite the evidence before her, on the same summit from which she had last seen the _Normandy_. But it was no baren muddy isle that lay before them, but a lush, colorful world, full of noise and life.

It was Shepard’s turn to stare transfixed as she attempted to take in the world before her when he gaze met the sky, and was captured there for some time.

They sky above them - if it was, in fact, sky - was, put simply, not of this world. No great blue expanse or blanket of cloud, no gold or purple gradient or even dark night. Instead the sky seemed to contain all of these at once, and more. It was as if some vast screen or veil was drawn betwixt earth and stars, distorting and shaping their light, like looking at the surface of the sea from beneath. Before her shone the sun, golden and bright, in the middle of its decent, but above her shone the stars, clear as on a moonless night. And with them far above glowed more lights, the likes of which have never been seen. Bands and rivers of color danced in and above the stars, filling the spaces between them and descending to the horizon: an undulating borealis of hues not yet named.

“This cannot be… real.” She heard the General say, even though neither of them believed it.

Still transfixed by the vision above her, Shepard found herself walking down the gravelled lane, descending the gentle hill before her to keep pace with General Arterius.

“What is this place?” She could not help but gasp again, finally drawing her eyes down to see only more mystery. Where once had been barren mountains and ancient steps now stood a living, breathing city of shining stone. They entered into a maze of streets, filled with markets, workshops, and homes, and with the people who lived in them.

When first she saw a denizen of that place, Shepard was almost scared to imagine what type of being might belong to so alien a land. But it was almost more startling to find that they were merely people after all. Normal, human people, from all she could tell. They bore no specific racial make, a diverse jumble of shape, tone, and dress, and spoke in a language she could not even begin to place, full of sounds she could not emulate.

“Get down!” She snapped at the General as a person of this place first came near them, pulling him into the cover of an alleyway. They knew nothing of this people or this world. She meant them no harm but was not prepared to trust them. The General eyed her in annoyance, but held still until the approaching figure had passed.

“And what, Commander, do you suggest we do?” He whispered sharply when they appeared to be alone. “Hide and hope we wake up, as if this were some sort of dream?”

Shepard frowned and grunted an unintelligible reply, wishing that he wasn’t right. “Let’s just. Try not to make any kind of scene.” She said at length. “Try to get some sort of handle on this before anyone sees us.” She peered around the corner towards what appeared to be a town square. People there were talking genially, and she did not see any weapons, but it was impossible to predict how they might respond to armed strangers.

“Commander.” Arterius’ sharp whisper was right beside her as he looked the other way down the alley. “I think the time for that has just about run out.”

Shepard turned just in time to see a large figure coming towards them from the shaded alley, looking straight where they were. Clearly spotted, she stood up and raised her hands a bit in what she hoped was a non-threatening gesture of good will. The man - if it was a man, for the costume of this race was utterly foreign, and his angular face and tall build gave little indication - did not react in the least.

“Commander, I-” Arterius’ hand was on her shoulder as she tried to find words to say - as if this person would understand them. All at once and before she could step away the man collided with her. Or he would have collided with her. What actually appeared to happen was that he walked through her, as if she were not there at all. Without blinking, he walked through the spot where she stood, as if she were invisible and made of smoke. Shepard stood, stunned by the occurrence, and looked over her shoulder to see the man steadily walking away. Eyes wide, she looked to the General, who likewise stared after the man in mute astonishment.

“Th-this is a… vision.” Shepard finally worked the words out as her mind worked to find any reasoning behind what had just happened. “Some sort of-of…”

“Dream.” Arterius nodded, making no note of the irony following his previous remark.

“Not real.” Shepard nodded. Were it true she would have been immensely relieved. But nothing within her could believe this world unreal, despite all evidence. Perhaps she herself was the vision in this place.

Arterius nodded, but she could see that he was no more convinced. Without a word he walked after the figure who had passed through her, right out into the open square. Shepard had to restrain herself from reaching out to stop him, and somewhat reluctantly found herself following him in.

General Arterius walked straight up to another of the people standing in the square. They did not seem to see him. “Hello!” He waved an arm up, but gained no response. He hummed in frustration. “Well, I suppose we should look around.” 

Standing next to them now, Shepard could tell that the people there were somewhat taller than the General, who was himself somewhat taller than her. But in every other regard they looked not unlike any other men and women; dressed in lively colors, they traded for crafted goods and fresh caught fish, and went about their business. Children ran about, playing with balls, hoops, and sticks. Now safe in the assurance that they could not be heard or seen, Shepard lost herself again in the wonder of this new world.

“Look at this place.” Arterius said, as if she could be doing anything else. “It’s like a paradise.” He observed. And on this, Shepard could not immediately fault him. There were no weapons, as far as she could see, but also no real signs of want or poverty. The streets were clean, the buildings made, upon inspection, of a mix of stone and something more metallic. Tapestries and paintings adorned walls all around, and the air smelled of the sea, and of spices.

The island was rather tropical; the foliage strange and jurassic. She saw little evidence of animals, besides the fish being hawked behind her, and the calls of exotic birds above. Behind her the sun was setting, and as it did lamps appeared, not unlike the green spheres they found in the temple, although in a multitude of colors. She still did not understand how they produced their steady, flameless glow. With every new observation the question rang in her mind again. Vision or no, what was this place? Was it this island, but in the past? Or perhaps the future. Or was this some flight of fancy? Or simply a dream after all.

Her speculation was cut short by an unmistakable wordless cry. She and the General both started as an anguished shout sounded somewhere nearby, but the denizens of that city seemed to pay little mind. Soon after, and before they could find the source of the ruckus, the drums began. These the citizens did note, and began moving market stalls out of the way, collecting children, and herding themselves to the edges of the street. It did not take much to see that they were clearing the way for a procession. Despite their ghostly aspect, the General and Commander joined the crowds in clearing the road.

It did not take long until the sombre column was upon them. Figures dressed in dark, hooded cloaks and wild, grotesque masks which hid or transfigured their faces. Some seemed like bestial representations, while others resembled human faces, though not well enough to put the mind at ease.

Of this disguised congregation some beat on drums as they marched, some carried staves or other unknown implements, and a few carried codexes, which they held up to display. Two figures near the center grasped a third by either shoulder. This person alone bore no cloak, although something like a mask had been placed over their head, it’s carved expression a twisted, wide-eyed grimace. As they marched their way up the hill the people seemed to shy and look away - averting their eyes rather than celebrate whatever was happening, although none of them left their place.

Beside her the General’s calculating eyes watched in fascination as he speculated on their intent; “Some sort of initiation, perhaps? A rite of passage?” If he had a journal he would have been writing all of this down. Shepard stayed silent. Something about this entire procession twisted at her stomach, and she had to fight to keep herself from also looking away. She did not know who these people were, but whatever they intended, it was not good.

They watched as the group made their way up the hill, clearly headed for the temple. Shepard knew that she ought to follow them. But now in the setting of the sun and following the masked procession, something deep in her gut dreaded returning to that grand temple. She contemplated catching Arterius and bringing him back, but she knew that whatever was about to happen, it was something she needed to see.

The General was already far ahead of her, walking beside them and studying their masks. “This one seems to resemble a crab,” he noted, but Shepard was no longer listening. They entered the temple as the sun fully set, and Shepard cast a backwards glance at the city below. It was beautifully adorned in lights, a lovely mimic of the dazzling sky above. But one by one, the lights went out, and the streets emptied. She swallowed hard and walked quickly to catch up with the procession, making it inside just as the doors shut behind them. Here the drumming stopped.

Without the sun’s light in the high windows, the large room was almost wholly dark, and seemed even vaster for it. Several members of the procession had lanterns, green and red, like those they had found below. They stopped near the door and words were spoken, although Shepard could not understand. One member would say a phrase, and the rest would repeat it, a sort of call and response. Only the masked man in the middle with no robe did not say his part. She could not see his face, but his head turned this way and that anxiously.

Beside her, General Arterius repeated a few of the odd phrases as best he could, clearly trying to commit them to memory, to share with others later, for no one would ever believe this tale. Shepard did not think she could pronounce most of the words she heard, but she doubted she would ever forget them.

Eventually the man in the middle’s mask was removed, and Shepard could see that he was still blindfolded even beneath it. Members of the procession approached and drew signs on his forehead in what might have been charcoal before the procession continued. The farther they pushed this one special participant, the more Shepard thought of him not as some honored participant and more as a captive, a victim of kidnapping. He walked under his own power, but only with a stronger man’s arm at each elbow.

As very little else was in this place, the procession approached and entered the metal doors to the undercroft below, filing in three by three, and Shepard and Arterius followed them back to the low room in which this whole strange adventure began.

The man - the captive, Shepard had begun calling him in her head - was made to kneel before the carved pillar, and more words were spoken as the others assembled in a rough circle about him, with just one member there to hold him down. All of Shepard’s instincts shouted at her to intervene. She could overpower that man, grab the boy, and bolt for the exit. Or she could if she could touch him, instead of fading through. As it was there was nothing she could do.

As the others circled, she and the General used their apparently spectral nature to stand unseen in their midst next to the kneeling man. Shepard studied his face, tight and worried, and wished that she didn’t have such a front-row view.

Now the chanting started in earnest, and several of the chanters moved about until what started as a full circle became only half, leaving one end of the room clear. Lights were extinguished one by one, until the far side of the hall was cast in utter darkness, the only light remaining one lantern by the pillar, by which the chanters seemed to read.

There was something in the pillar, Shepard only saw now. A crystal of some sort, perhaps, a sort of strange polyhedron. She had not seen it before, but now as the final light was extinguished, the glass-like stone seemed to glow from within. Shepard watched as the captive’s blindfold was taken off, and saw the man who did so quickly look away. The young man’s eyes at once fixed upon the crystal, wide and unwavering, and in a few moments his mouth opened in what must have been speech.

Although she had never heard the young man’s voice until now, Shepard knew that what she was hearing was not truly his voice at all. No earthly voice could utter such a sound.

What began as a deep whisper spoken in a trance repeated until it was a scream, torn from deep in the boy’s throat. Always the same words, the same incomprehensible syllables over and over again. But never once did the voice sound human.

As this chant was uttered, Shepard saw all of the cultists shield their eyes, not daring to look into the darkness behind her. Beside her she heard the General gasp. His hand flew to her shoulder. _What was it?_ Her pounding heart screamed, but something deep in her gut told her not to turn around. Around her she saw the cultists, still not daring to look, kneel and bow, prostrating themselves before whatever it was they had summoned, and adding their voices again to the blasphemous call.

The words rang in the chamber and in Shepard’s head. She knew that she shouldn’t look. That whatever it was these gruesome men feared to witness was not for the eyes of an intruder. Neither did she want to look. For soon sounds could be heard even amongst the chant: loathsome, wet, fleshy sounds, and something like labored breathing from the other side of the room. Whatever had joined them in the darkness, it was something which Shepard did not wish to know. And yet she had to look. In that moment she had to look like she had to breathe.

Summoning her strength and courage, Shepard at last turned to see that which had awakened in the dark. Before her, beyond the pillar, something was emerging: a pool or fog of darkness, a more profound darkness lurking now within the dark. As she cast her gaze into that imminent abyss, Shepard was never quite sure what she saw. Every attempt to give it shape in her memory or on paper were abandon, for she could not stand to recall the accursed shape. Tendrils of darkness, it had, and something like an eye, or a mouth. Hands, perhaps, or claws, or tentacles. Perhaps all three, for she could never say. All she knew for certain was the second her eyes fell upon it, she could hardly look away. Retching terror struck her like a wave, threatening to bring her to her hands and knees, a too-powerful will drawing her down into the same prostrating stance that its worshippers had assumed. Shepard caught herself on the pillar, focusing her entire strength and will on staying upright, and on looking away.

It was then that she heard it. The vile thing had a voice.

_ **Rudimentary creature of blood and flesh. You touch my mind, fumbling in ignorance, incapable of understanding.** _

The words rang deep inside her like metal scraping on stone. They burned behind her eyes and ricocheted down her spine. The voice gripped her in a vice, and like a puppet master drew her down to her knees.

_ **Surrender now against the growing void. We are eternal. We are Sovereign.** _

Shepherd's head ached and she tasted blood as she strained her entire being to keep from being pressed to the floor. She would not bow to this hideous creature, would not be overpowered by its blasphemous speech.

“_No._” She forced the word through ground teeth, blood dripping from her nose, and clung to the stone beside her until her nails bit into the runes. Around her the cultist’s chant reached a terrible crescendo.

_ **Confidence born of ignorance. The cycle cannot be broken.** _

Beside her the glow from the stone within the pillar was growing brighter, and yet the charnel shadow seemed to grow deeper and darker still, expanding further and consuming more space not only in the hall but in her mind. A banging could be heard now, like great metal drums sounding all around, not in time with the chanting but clashing against it. The cacophony of the captive’s unearthly calls had melded now into one tearing, wrenching wail. And as she finally tore her eyes away from the being in the dark, Shepard saw his final end close at hand.

Having looked into the mysterious gem full and served his purpose, the vessel which served to summon this dark entity was now to be sacrificed to it. He did not even seem to notice as one of his captors seized his head and raised it by the hair, pressing a knife to his throat.

“No!” Shepard shouted her defiance again, turning away from the shadow and towards the helpless man. This time, it seemed, she was heard.

The still masked figure holding his knife to the boy’s throat looked up, startled as Shepard reached forward to stop him.

Her fingers found purchase in his arm, and did not pass through. So astonishing was the contact that for a moment she almost forgot her aim. With a sharp tug she fought to pry the assailant’s knife from his victim’s throat. She did not have the leverage she needed, but she did have surprise.

What she did not expect was the ferocious commitment the cultist had to their work. Even as she wrenched the weapon free, her true goal was lost. Seeing his defeat, the mad cultist let out an animal growl and rushed forward. Shepard dodged out of the way, but the man she was trying to save could not.

With a gut-wrenching crack the captive’s skull was brought into sharp and final contact with the stone pillar before him, splattering it in gore. Shouts and ululations rang out as the cultist reveled in their sacrifice. Shepard stared, open mouthed, at her failure, and gripped the knife now in her hand, ready to defend herself from the rest of the cult.

Blood poured onto the carved pillar now, and onto the ground, filling channels etched there for such a purpose. In that instant the foetid smell of the island’s dark mire returned, along with the coppery stench of blood. The being in the dark was even more present, now, and something told Shepard that it would demand more.

Behind her the metallic banging grew louder. Something else was trying to get it, working to breach the strong metal doors to the temple. Something not even the cultists wished to enter. 

As the slaughtered man’s blood covered the pillar it blocked the crystal’s otherworldly dim glow, and soon the room was plunged once more in utter darkness. Shepard's breath caught. She would not, could not be trapped in darkness with that thing.

Dropping to her knees again, this time of her own volition, Shepard groped around blindly for her only hope of light, and found it. The small green lantern lit as she touched its warm glass, bursting like an explosion into that cursed night.

“Shepard, don’t.” She could hear the General’s voice nearby, but the light felt to her more trusted a weapon than the knife in her hand. And soon it was not alone.

With a terrible crash, the metal door gave way. Shepard looked up to see more lanterns enter, as even more shouts were added to the already cacophonous fray. These voices sounded different. And for the first time, Shepard understood them.

Her mouth dropped open as she heard their words. “Now!” They shouted, and “Down with the cult!” as the lantern bearers entered they began to cut a path in the dark. Blades flashed, and the first few cult members fell. For the first time since the start of the procession, Shepard felt a spark of hope.

“Shepard.” Arterius was at her side now, finally illuminated by the green glow of the lantern, he leaned on the blood-stained pillar.

“General, you’re safe.” He looked anything but.

“What have you done?” His eyes burned with the accusation.

“W-what?” Shepard stammered, but there was no time to seek out a reply.

Around them, battle now raged. The cultists seemed to have prepared for such an assault, and the fight was far from one-sided. The eldritch being behind them, its ritual interrupted, let out a hideous, piercing wail that threatened to send Shepard again to her knees. Clasping her hands over her ears, she dropped the knife, and almost lost the lantern as well.

The spell was broken as someone grabbed her arm. She looked up to find not the General but a tall woman. She had dark skin and hair, a blue lantern at her waist and a huge warhammer hefted in her hands. “You!” Shepard was astonished to understand her. “You’ve a sword. Use it!”

Shepard drew her saber as ordered.

“With me!” The woman told her, and let out another call, echoed by her comrades. “For Atlantis!”

Shepard’s jaw fell open as the penny finally dropped. Atlantis. That’s where they were. That is what the island was. Drawn up from the depths of the sea. It was real. And she was, somehow, here. In Atlantis.

She could not marvel long, for now that she could, apparently, be seen in this place, the cultists saw her too, right in the middle of their malevolent ceremony chamber.

By the shifting light of the lanterns, the skirmish was an ugly affair. Blades of steel and obsidian clashed and met flesh, and all the while something in the back of her mind told her that the _thing_ in the shadow reveled in the spilled blood, even of its own followers.

Shepard parried and ducked as a wooden stave came hurtling towards her head, and dodged again a knife blade in the dark. It was hard to see her assailants, but she cut forward into the fray, hoping to join these apparent Atlanteans and find a less vulnerable position.

Of the fight which ensued, Shepard could remember very little. She remembered the darkness - the profound, stygian black summoned by the horrid ritual - as it seemed to deform and stretch towards them, finding each of its disciples, whose chants once again filled the air even as they fought with blades and fists. She remembered them fighting with more than mere blades and fists; seeing horrors no earthly battlefield had ever known. The cultists or their tenebrous patron brought what Shepard could only describe as dark magic down upon their foes. As the darkness filled them, the cloaked figures seemed to command the shadow around them; dark, squamous tendrils bent at their command, ripping swords from hands and tearing flesh from bones with the same terrible efficiency. The tide had turned distinctly in the cult’s favor.

Nevertheless, the apparent leader of this rebellion, the same woman who had first seen Shepard, was pressing forward towards the pillar. Shepard put all her effort into defending this woman, cutting her own bloody path for the only person who seemed to have a plan amidst the madness. And although astonished by the plan’s effect, she was not disappointed.

“We must break the spell,” the woman said as she neared the blood-stained pillar and turned to Shepard. “Hold them off.” She ordered, but Shepard needed no instruction. She had completely lost General Arterius in the fray, but hoped he was alive.

Three more cultists fell to her hand when they tried to reach the pillar Shepard defended. The light of the lantern protected her, it appeared, from their shadow, while her own blade protected her from the rest. The woman behind her knelt before the pillar, as the last victim had, but placed a hand over the crystal to block its remaining light. She seemed to be etching something there, perhaps altering the runes.

“Now,” she stood back up. “For the sake of Atlantis, and the sake of the world!” Hefting her hammer high, the woman brought it around in a mighty arc, slamming straight into the crystal and the stone, and leaving not a small indent there. The cultist redoubled their efforts, turning all attention towards them as she lifted her hammer a second time. Behind them the entity in the darkness still shrieked. Shepard could hear its voice again in her head, and wondered if the others heard the same.

_ **Your attacks are pointless. We are endless. We are the end of all things.** _

“Your hold on this world has ended!” the woman shouted and brought her hammer down again. One more swing, and the pillar would be broken. Already pieces littered the floor. “With the waters of oblivion I banish you and all your kind from OUR world!”

With the third swing, the pillar was broken in two. The glowing crystal, now darkened, was knocked away from its altar. And the beast that lurked in the darkness gave another shuddering scream.

As the central pillar was severed, the top half came crashing down. The entire structure gave a mighty quake, knocking Shepard to the ground. She felt the triumphant woman’s hand upon her shoulder and felt herself hastily lifted to her feet again.

“Run!” she was instructed, as behind them the ceiling of the undercroft began to tumble down.

“Arterius!” She shouted for the General as her new guardian lead her up the stairs. She saw but could not hear him as he shouted a response. It was enough that he understood and was following.

In moments they were in the still dark great hall, the massive masonry of which now crumbled around them, above and below. Running frantically, the mass of former combatants now fled together, cultist and lantern-bearer alike. The floor gave way before them, causing Shepard to leap and pray she reached the other side. At the same time, huge stone slabs dropped from above without warning. It was a true miracle, Shepard thought, that she and the woman with her made it to the other side.

What they found outside was, somehow, even worse. Shepard gasped as she saw the wondrous sky above literally falling towards them. It was as if whatever veil had held the sky suspended, that seemed like the surface of the ocean from beneath, had been severed - punctured with grapeshot, and torn apart. She watched in horror as from these tears huge waterfalls crashed down from the sky - pillars of water diving toward the earth, plunging into the sea around them, and at last colliding with the city below.

Shepard felt the woman who had led her thus far take her hand, and she looked up to meet her grey eyes. 

“Quickly” The woman gasped, out of breath now that her job was done. “I am Despoina. What is your name?”

Shepard told her, wondering how it was she trusted this woman with her life having just met her.

“Shepard, your presence was foretold.” Despoina continued, placing a hand on each of Shepard’s shoulders and holding her gaze even as the sky crashed about them. As Shepard began to question she shook her head. “There is no time. You were brought here so that you might understand. The Cult has always existed, and it always will. But so have we, the Resistance. We have gained one victory through this sacrifice, but you must gain another. The imprisonment will not last. You must-”

The river hit them in that moment - a violent wave washing even up hill, and sweeping them up. Shepard gasped at the sickening feeling of losing her footing in the current, and found herself washed back towards the temple and through its doors.

“You must-!” she heard Despoina shout, and tried to keep hold of the woman’s arm. “I’ve given you all I can!” She heard her shout. “Don’t let them-!” the pair was sucked under the waves again as the water washed into the collapsed undercroft. Clawing their way back to the surface, Despoina grabbed hold of Shepard again. “Stop them.” She ordered at last. “Whatever the cost.” 

Another tear in the veil of the sky opened, this time directly above the temple in which they were again trapped. Pummelling down on them, it forced them deep underwater, and when Shepard finally managed to resurface, Despoina was nowhere to be seen. Shepard called for her, but could not even hear herself over the roaring falls. Despoina was gone. And Shepard knew that she could not keep this up much longer.

In the chaos, Shepard found something familiar; the blue striped turban of her companion came floating up beside her. “General Arterius!” she called in vain, looking around. The water lifted her almost to the fractured roof, now, but she saw no one else above the waves. Taking a deep breath, Shepard forced herself to swim back down into the chaos.

It was hard to keep her eyes open under the waves, but once she spotted the General, nothing could stop her. He was pinned, it seemed, under a large piece of rubble, and had lost consciousness. He may even have been dead, but Shepard was not prepared to take that chance.

She did not know for how long she struggled to lift the pile of stones and free him, straining with all her might as best she could. But the time and exertion underwater were too much. When at last, chest burning and throat screaming for air, Shepard started back towards the surface, she already knew it was too late. The surface was too far and the current too strong to make it back. She dragged herself towards air as ferociously as she could, but it was not enough.

Shepard always thought that drowning would be a particularly terrible way to die. As her body went into a spazmatic sort of shock, shutting down first her limbs and senses, and then forcing her emptied, straining lungs open, her mouth and nose filled with water, choking, suffocating, clawing desperately against the dark. As the fear of death and asphyxiation threatened to overcome her, the dreaded voice invaded her mind once more.

_ **That is not dead which can eternal lie,  
And with strange aeons even death may die.** _

The terrible prophecy was the last she heard. All else faded as Shepard’s heart stilled, and at last, there was peace.

\--------------------------------

With a terrible gasp, Shepard jolted awake.

“Commander! You’re alright,” She heard over the sound of her own hacking cough. Was that Doctor Chakwas?

A gentle hand came to rub her back as Shepard sucked in quick, greedy mouthfuls of air and choked them back out. She tried to focus on where she was. It was dark here, but there was a candle on the table. Wooden floor, wooden walls. The _Normandy_. She was back aboard her ship, the _HMS Normandy_. 

“The… General!” She gasped in a panic.

“He is here, Commander. He woke up a few minutes before you.” Chakwas moved so Shepard could see him. The man looked haggard, but alive. He sat on the edge of a small bed, taking slow deliberate breaths as best he could.

“What… uhg.” He coughed deeply, wearily. “What happened?”

“We were hoping you could tell us. Williams and Alenko carried you back, said they found you unconscious inside some sort of ruin.” Chakwas spoke while checking over the Commander, listening to her still thundering heart.

“The… Pillar.” Shepard panted. General Arterius’ eyes shot up immediately and locked meaningfully with her own. In that instant she knew that he had seen it. He had really been there too. Atlantis was no dream.

“Just focus on catching your breath, Commander. Then drink this when you can.” The doctor pressed a cup of water into her hand and placed a hand on her brow to check for fever.

Chakwas went to the cabin door to relay news of their waking, and Shepard leaned closer to Arterius. “Atlantis.” She said in short, to test his response. The General’s eyes were stoic, revealing nothing. He gave a single, nearly imperceptible nod. It was all Shepard needed. They could speak later, in private. What mattered was that it was real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit where credit is due: All dialog in Bold is a direct quote from Mass Effect (1-3) except the last, which is a direct quote from The Call of Cthulhu by HP Lovecraft


	5. Dismissed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe I missed so many weeks! I apologize for the huge breach of schedule. Life happened.

“Every night since I have been plagued by dreams, as was the General, or so he said. At sea or on land, it makes no difference. They are rarely the same, but all undoubtedly linked to-”

“Commander.” the Lord Chancellor’s nasally voice interrupted her increasingly feversome recollection and paused for a moment in thought. Every man in the building now seemed rapt in her tale, even those who had heard it before. Every man but the Lord Chancellor. “James,” Udina continued mildly, “may I call you James?” It was clearly meant to be something of a compliment; first name basis with the Lord Chancellor.

“I prefer Shepard.” She responded on instinct alone, trying not to grind her teeth. She _preferred_ Commander.

It used to be every minute of every day that Shepard had to concentrate on being ‘James’. After twelve years of maintaining the disguise, James was as much a part of her as Jane. But she still prefered not hearing his name when people addressed her, even if it was evidence that her ruse was accepted. It was amazing what men would look past to see what they expected. Keep your hair bound behind you and your chest bound under your shirt, a bit of padding, the right outfit, and an unnecessary shaving kit among your effects, and no one batted an eye. A military title definitely helped. And once they believed you were a man, well, you were free. It was a tragic truth, but it was the only way Shepard had made it this far. And she knew she was not the only one, even aboard the _Normandy_. Maybe one day there would be room for her, the real her, in the Royal Navy. But for now she would do what she had to to live the life she needed to live.

“Shepard, then.” The Lord Chancellor cleared his throat. “Shepard, I trust that you are a rational man.” He paused as if waiting for a response, but not long enough for her to actually provide one. “And given Admiral Anderson’s high opinion of you, an exceedingly competent sailor and leader.” He continued ingratiating himself, but Shepard could feel a contrasting conjunction on its way. “However-” There it was. “In reading your last six reports, I was disturbed to find a story I might have expected not from a man of your caliber, under oath in a court of law, but from the imagination of an unread child. An old wives’ tale in response to an international incident.”  
Shepard opened her mouth to protest, but again could not.

“By coming here today in person I hoped to... clear some of this out.” Udina continued. “I am here, as I said, for the _truth_, Commander Shepard; the truth behind the disappearance of General Saren Arterius.”

At this point Shepard could not have responded if she wanted to, struck silent by growing rage. 

“While your… interpretations of the General’s mental state may prove somewhat relevant,” Udina’s tone was as steady and statesmanlike as ever. “it would help a great deal if you confined yourself to statements of _fact_. I did not come here for dreams.”

By now Shepard was sure that her entire face, her entire being was flushed red. It took a lifetime of training not to spring to her feet shouting, or deck the Lord Chancellor on his clean shaven jaw. Before she could, Udina cut off her reply once more.

“You say that yourself and the General were both found unconscious. Did he show any other signs of injury or ill health?”

Shepard blinked. What just happened? “I… He…” She searched for words with which to combat the shocking efficiency by which her encounter with the being in the dark and rediscovering of bloody _Atlantis_ had been summarily dismissed. “No.” She said at last, “he did not. But-”

“You report that the storm occurred on the night of November 15th, and records indicate that the_ HMS Normandy_ returned to London on December 1st. In that or any other time did the General make any indication to you of his intentions once ashore?”

“To return to the embassy,” Shepard reported, but she was still trying to backpedal to the real matter at hand. “After what happened on the island the General kept mainly to himself. I tried to speak with him about what happened, about what we should do, but he-”

“Did he ever speak of any enemies, forgien or domestic, which might take advantage in the unforeseen change in his itinerary?”

“What? No, he-” Shepard stopped herself, seizing the opportunity to put her foot down again. “Only the enemy we encountered that night in the dark, sir.” She reported. “We spoke of the vision we had apparently shared, its reality and its implications for our world.” She rushed to say all she could before he could stop her. “The General and I did not see completely eye to eye about-”

“So you had a disagreement, then?” Ah, now Udina was simply trying to trip her in her own words, looking for any culprit but the obvious truth. 

“A difference in interpretation, sir.” Shepard set her teeth, ready to show this man she could role with his verbal punches too. “Over the dangers such a reality might pose.” It was a mild understatement.

“And,” Udina surprised her by indulging her with a question. “What danger might that be?” His voice dripped with sarcasm, but Shepard did not let it deter her response.

“There are forces at work in this world beyond what we know, Lord Chancellor. Forces that would seek the destruction not only of our nation but of all nations; of humanity as a whole. I do not know what lurks beyond the dark, but I know that it’s aim is to corrupt men’s souls, and to regain its hold over this world. I know that it has servants yet, and I know that it can be resisted. In this vision we have been granted a gift; a warning, and a directive. We must learn more about this threat. We must prepare before it can return.”  
Udina may have attempted to stop her, but the solid and passionate conviction in the Commander’s voice delayed him. This was what she had come here to proclaim.

“I see.” He stared at her for a long moment before looking away from the challenge in her eyes. “Be that as it may, Commander, this _theory_ of yours is not why we are here.”

“With _respect_, Chancellor Udina, you asked for the truth.” Shepard assumed her most commanding tone. “And this truth is the greatest I have ever known. It is the reason I returned to England and-”

“You returned to England because of a storm, Commander.”

“-the reason I have sat through all six - now seven of these utter-”

“You have provided testimony because you have been _ordered_, Commander! And you will continue to do so.” It was now Udina who raised his voice; barking like a trained drill sergeant. The contrast of his polished, judicial appearance and the stark command behind his tone was not quite enough to stop Shepard, but the truth of his words was.  
In the moments of silence that followed Shepard held Udina with a stern and unbreakable glare.

“If you cannot _deign_ to follow _orders_, Commander, or provide testimony without confusing fact and utter fantasy, I question whether you ought even to be entrusted with full command.” Shepard opened her mouth in indignant protest, but she knew that anything said in rage would only make Udina’s accusation seem stronger.

“As I have said, Lord Chancellor, I defer to the Admiral in all such judgements.” She answered, her tone low and controlled. “If you refer to the damage which the _HMS Normandy_ withstood under my command, know that I and my crew have been cleared of any negligence, and commended by Admirals Hackett and Anderson for bringing the ship back at all.”

They both knew that the _Normandy_’s damages had nothing to do with the matter at hand. But it was the only thing short of insanity of which the Lord Chancellor could press in a formal complaint. Shepard had answered all of his questions, after all, six times over at least. All the same, the Lord Chancellor was not someone a young officer such as herself wanted as an enemy. 

This time it was Shepard who broke the silence. “I have told you all I can about General Arterius’ whereabouts, Lord Chancellor.” _Again_, she did not add. “I will do anything in my power to assist in this investigation, but I must share my suspicion that perhaps the General does not _want_ to be found. My ‘interpretations’, as you call them, of the General’s mental state may not be enough to satisfy your inquiries, but after all I have seen of the General, I estimate that if he wished to evade detection, he could. The man is resourceful, perceptive, and diligent. And what is more, he knows as I do that there is more to be found in the shadows of this world than the mere absence of light.”

“That is enough, Commander.” A look of fatigue passed over Chancellor Udina’s stoic face at last. “You are dismissed.”

After spending her entire day wishing she were anywhere but back in this court office, it was only natural, Shepard thought, that she should be sent away the moment her insight might have been of use, or her message heard. She gave a stiff nod as she took her feet, collecting her hat and leaving an untouched cup of tea behind.

“I hope you realize the severity of this situation, Commander.” Udina addressed her one last time, stopping her halfway out the door. She turned. “The General was an important man to his Empire, and they too have been looking into this case. If anyone from the Ottoman Embassy requests an interview, you are to refer them to me.”

“Yes, sir.” Shepard nodded. Interesting. It was not only the first she had heard on the matter, but the first she had seen Udina show true discomfort.

“You may report to Admiral Anderson for reassignment.” He added.

“Yes, sir.” Inside Shepard silently rejoiced. Although it was not technically within Udina’s authority to give her such orders, it meant that he did not expect another interview - or that he really was rather frightened of the Ottomans and very much wanted her back out at sea. Perhaps both. What mattered was that she was free, once again, to do as she ought, instead of wasting her time not being heard. 

“You hear that, Commander?” Captain Bailey greeted her as she closed the door to Unida’s office. He had taken to personally escorting her out of the court. “Maybe they’ll let us both get back to our actual jobs.”

“You will always be welcome for tea, Captain Bailey.” Shepard told him with a smile. “Especially if you’ve any news on this case which _doesn’t_ require my attendance.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” He opened the main door of the Royal Naval Administrative Court building to let Shepard out.

“Take care of yourself, Commander.”

“Only if you do the same.” They exchanged a brief farewell as Shepard donned her hat. “You know where to find me, Captain. Maybe next time we can even find a stronger drink?”

“If you’re buying.” Bailey laughed. It was a deep but dry laugh, but one that always made Shepard feel at home. It had not taken Shepard long to realize why. The man was perhaps one of two people she knew whose accent strongly declared them a native of her own home colony. She had been only sixteen the last time she stood on Canadian soil, but they had been good days, until the end. She had made quite a life for herself here, all with the strength of her own heart and hands and her willingness to be called ‘James’. But there were still days she yearned to be back among the small farming towns of her youth. One day, perhaps, she would go back there.

For now however the Commander strolled back to her small London flat. She took her time, mingling among the men and women on the street. It was a fine day, and the chill on the air only reminded her more of her childhood home. It would be April soon. The snow would be melting there, and the first vestiges of Spring appearing in the fields and lanes she had called home; slowly waking chipmunks and early purple flowers. It was easy to lose sight of these things when you spent your life at sea.

All the same, she was dying to get back out to sea. And with this entire charade of an investigation seemingly at an end, she might finally get the chance. The moment she arrived home Shepard drew a pen and paper from her desk, drafting a hasty letter to Admiral Anderson asking to call on him at his earliest convenience for orders, to put an end to this insufferable and indefinite shore leave. She stepped back out and found a boy to deliver it, paying the lad well.

Now, there was just the matter of spending yet another evening with no orders to fulfil. Shepard had hoped to make quite an art of it over the past several months, but she found she was not in the least built for the social life of London. When she could, she saw the Lieutenants, most of whom had been granted minor postings until they could again be underway. She had also spent a great deal of time familiarizing herself with the parks and the pubs of the city, but tonight she had something different in mind.

As the sun set Shepard lit the various lamps, lanterns, and candles around her small bachelor’s suite. She had quite the collection by now. She opened the glass-paned bookcase beside her desk and withdrew her supplies. By this point she had collected a vast myriad of tomes; books of science, philosophy, myth, and even fantasy, along with as many charts of the eastern Atlantic as she could find. She laid them all out on the table by the fire, as she had done many times before, and reopened her notes.   
It had become quite a pattern by now. After seven different interviews, she still hadn’t truly gotten over re-living her tale. Even to her, it still sounded ridiculous. And since no one else in this city seemed to believe her, she had set out to prove that it was not. Research was not Shepard’s stong suit, but she as willing to learn it as any trade.

All of her books had one theme in common: Atlantis. The myth, the legend, the reality. Theories ranged from the scientific to the satirical, and estimates of location practically from the medditeranean to the moon. It was Shepard’s greatest frustration that she had only an approximation of latitude, and the longitude of the island had to remain a guess. In the immediate aftermath of waking up aboard the Normandy, Shepard had given orders to raise anchor and sail north; to make way to London with all possible haste. Something deep in her gut told her that she must at any cost make her way as far as possible from the island as she could. And to her shame, she had listened.

Now, she had work to do. If she was ever going to convince the Admiralty that action needed to be taken, she needed a plan. They would not listen to vague otherworldly threats any more than the Lord Chancellor, even if it was Admiral Anderson that brought it to their attention. Hackett could be relied upon as long as she had a plan, but he was not a man for impracticalities.

In her research, Shepard relied a surprising amount on her gut. When she encountered tales of the mythic or occultic nature, she recognized those which rang of the truth she had seen with a sense more akin to taste or smell than analytic reasoning. Sometimes it frightened her how naturally this came. To read of nearly unimaginable horrors, and to somehow know deep down that they were but the shadows of the real thing. There was a reason Shepard kept so many candles lit, although one or two might do to read. It was not work to be done alone and in the dark.

For not the first time, she wished that General Arterius was here. But then, perhaps it was for the best. What she had told the Lord Chancellor was true. She and the General had discussed and disagreed about the dangers posed by what they had seen and learned on the island. But the other side of what she had told him was true as well. Although optimistic and interested to learn on their outbound journey, the entire two weeks of their passage home, the General was quiet, and kept to his quarters. Clearly, he struggled as she did to come to terms with what happened. And he did not have command of a ship to distract him.

When she had learned of the General’s disappearance Shepard had fallen under immediate suspicion for not being, as she had put it in her frustration, adequately surprised. But as she told Captain Bailey at the time, the General had all but avoided her in the last few days of their journey, and certainly showed no willingness to continue discussing what they had seen. If this had been combined with a return to his normal engagement with the rest of the crew, she might have thought he was trying to deny or look past it. But the more the General withdrew, the more certain Shepard was that the opposite was true. Arterius could not stop dwelling on the vision they had seen. The likes of Udina would never hear it, of course, but it ought to have been their chief concern.

There was one thing upon which she and Arterius had agreed. They needed to learn more about whatever it was they had seen. That was where their agreement ended, however, and the means by which they might acquire such knowledge was one of their firecer points of debate. Commander Shepard wished to, as she had now done, inform the Admiralty, and was willing to take the matter all the way to the King if need be. Although from the way things were going, it would be a miracle if the news made it farther than Anderson and Hackett. General Arterius, however, wished to keep their discoveries secret, or relatively so; to seek the darkness where it was found, or some such notion. He felt any notoriety they made of the matter pushed all potential inquiries of any import into the clearly occultic activities they had witnessed further away. Secrets keep their secrets, and all that. She had told it all to Bailey, and to each of the investigators to question her after that. None of them wished to listen. But it couldn’t be helped now.

It was not that she did not want to know what had become of the General, or wonder where he could have gone. When they first told her of his disappearance Shepard had tried to find out what she could on her own. What she had found was a man who had genuinely vanished without a trace. Which meant either that he had worked very hard to disappear himself, or someone else had. After what they had gone through together, Shepard couldn’t shake the gut feeling that if someone had targeted General Arterius because of what he now knew, they would have come for her as well, and would have done so before she even knew the General was gone. It may have been a morbid thought, but as it had not come to pass it was one she now rested in, sure that wherever the General was, he was likely there by his own accord. She only wished he would have told her.

Sometimes, Shepard wondered if she and the General had in fact seen the same thing. He had certainly seemed to have seen less of that woman, Despoina. Perhaps he had seen more of that… _thing_. It hurt Shepard even to think on it too long. Perhaps that was what drove the General to the dark, to the shadows; to avoid having to face such an existence again, seven times over in a court of law.

Shepard poured over her collected manuscripts until her eyes ached, as she had done every other night she was forced to recount the whole journey. Then she made tea, and lit new candles, and read more. She read everything; from ancient greek scholars in barely translated text, to the scrawling journal of a fishing boat captain, granted her by his widow, who had relinquished the book before practically shoving Shepard out the door when she asked. She read long into the night, and never once admitted that she would rather read herself sleepless than return after all of this to dream. Tomorrow she would function as best she could in the light of day, refocusing herself on the reality before her eyes, hands, and feet. She could call on Lieutenant Williams, or perhaps even Dr. Chakwas, and find a pub somewhere to be with friends. Then she would sleep, with an ale-full belly to wash all thoughts of the beast below Atlantis back to sea. Now, however, Shepard turned even her fear to her advantage, and got to work.


	6. Many Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: non-graphic violence

It was not every man (or woman) of Commander Shepard’s rank who reported directly to the Admiralty. In fact her situation was, as those of higher rank so often pointed out, highly irregular. Some called it favoritism, but those who knew either Admiral Anderson or the Commander called it trust. Shepard had become Anderson’s second when he was merely a Commodore, and any time he needed to put someone on special assignment - such as to escort an Ottoman General to the Americas - he turned to her.

Shepard had initially joined the Navy because it seemed like the one place in England where no one cared where she came from, only what she could do. And that she was a man, unfortunately, but she had worked around that. And yet, even within a supposed meritocracy, it turned out that everything still came down to who you knew, and getting on the good side of the powers at be. Admiral Anderson was a master at it. The man could set or stay fleets with words, even before it was within his authority to do so. He was London bred and London born, and knew the streets, courts, and even palaces as well as he knew the sea. Shepard, on the other hand, did her best to stay away from all such affairs. It was why he was an Admiral, and despite his best efforts, she was still a Commander. Still, she was good at what she did, and enjoyed it. She did not envy his managerial people pleasing or paperwork in the least.

The office was nice though. Shepard could not help but stare and gaze around as she was taken from one room to the next, admiring the white crown molding and lovely yellow paint which framed large, bright windows overlooking the Thames.

“Commander Shepard, please, come in, have a seat.” She smiled as she heard a familiar voice at last. It had taken the better part of an hour bouncing between the different members of his staff. She always got the feeling they didn’t like her.

Admiral Anderson was a tall, stern looking man. He was dark haired but balding, and refused to don a powdered wig as some of his station did. He was of African decent, and may have been the highest ranking man in England who could make such a claim. It was something about which the Admiral had endured a lifetime of prejudice and distrust, which he had overcome by the excellence of both his word and deed. And, to hear him tell it, with the help of countless friends along the way. Many assumed that Admiral Anderson was chief only of the segregated black forces of the King’s navy, but Shepard was proud that this was not so, and that she and her crew served under him.

“I hear repairs on the _Normandy_ are well underway; to be completed within the month.” He repeated what Shepard kept hearing on all sides. It was good news, obviously, but Shepard wished that the celebrated time of completion would hurry up and get here. “I’m glad to hear that your business with the Lord Chancellor will have wrapped up by then. I’ve…” He hesitated, catching Shepard’s eye in a glance that appeared to assure her that no one else was in the room. “...read your reports.” He held her gaze.

Shepard had assumed this would be the case. She had told the Admiral as much as she could immediately upon her worse-for-ware return, but hearing the story confirmed and expanded upon these seven times likely helped. Shepard held his gaze, and held her breath, straining to keep the unvoiced but pleading question ‘_do you believe me?_’ from her lips.

“I’m not sure what’s out there,” he began, “but I trust that what you say is true.” Shepard could have collapsed from the sigh she released. The words felt like setting aside a load of bricks from her chest. “Whatever it was you saw, Shepard, I know it is important to you. And I will take what action I can to make sure it does not fall on deaf ears. But I need more, Shepard. We cannot take action based on a dream.”

“I know, sir. And I have been doing research.” Shepard was quick to respond, and pulled from her inner coat the book of notes on which she had been working, bulging with tucked in maps and charts she had collected. Anderson eyed it, looking interested and impressed, and leaned back, gesturing to the desk which stood between them, as Shepard spread out the map.

“By my estimates, the island must have been somewhere along here.”

“That is a rather large search area, Commander.”

“Yes, sir, unfortunately so. Our navigator Mr. Traynor might be able to help narrow it down, but it will not be exact.”

“Of course.”

“Beyond that, I’ve been searching for leads, anything which might help explain what I saw.” Shepard flipped through her notebook, which contained a mix of detailed research and hastily scrawled notes, including accounts of her various harrowing dreams. “I’ve encountered the work of several scholars whose work might be of help, most now deceased, only one of whom I have been able to track down; Lady Beneziah T’Soni.”

“The Egyptian socialite.”

“And scholar,” Shepard confirmed. “Yes, she’s done some work on ancient flood myths, and Atlantis. And more specifically, on the antediluvian world.”

“Hmm.”

“Admiral?” Anderson looked troubled.

“Lady Beneziah does not have a… shining history for playing well with others.” Anderson informed her. “She’s been quite opposed to British dealings in Egypt, especially after that incident with the ambassador, and may not take kindly to any request of aid, no matter how academic, coming from us. And what’s more, no one has seen Lady Beneziah in some time. It seems she is prone to bouts of isolation during her studies, and has withdrawn from the public eye.”

Shepard nodded. As frustrating as it was, she couldn’t really blame Beneziah for that. She wasn’t exactly sure what incident Anderson referred to, but the news from Egypt rarely painted her own nation in the best of light. Perhaps it was the colonial in her, but she was glad she herself had never been sent to enforce any of these wayward initiatives.

“There may, however, be another alternative.” Shepard’s gaze shot up from her notes. “I mentioned your inquiries to an acquaintance at the National Library, and they pointed me to this,” he retrieved a book, printed yet as cheaply bound as a journal, from a desk drawer. “It is a doctoral thesis from the University of Oxford - written only a year ago by one Dr. Liara T’Soni - Lady Beneziah’s only daughter.”

Shepard’s eyes widened as she scanned the book’s opening paragraph. How had she never encountered this before?

“It seems that Dr. T’Soni and her mother are rather estranged. Perhaps her coming to study at Oxford did not suit Lady Beneziah’s political ideals. No matter the reason, I believe that Dr. T’Soni could be more amenable to assist us than her mother. And what’s more, I know where you might find her.”

Shepard shut the rather technical thesis she had been attempting to decipher. “Is she here in London?” Something told her that she absolutely must meet this woman. That if anyone was going to believe her that she saw the real Atlantis, it would be her.

“Unfortunately not. I’ve been informed that she has taken a ship west, to begin some archeological study in the new world. She sailed to Bermuda, though I am informed she may have continued into Spanish waters from there.”

Shepard logged all of this information away. It was good to know, but they both knew it was useless without a ship and without orders. She was a Naval officer, and could not go gallivanting off after an archaeologist halfway across the world without leave. It was good to finally speak logistics, but they were both beating around the elephant in the room.

“You may keep the book.” Anderson told her, “You may need it.”

Shepard looked up again. “Your orders, sir?” An edge of hope dared to shine in her eyes.

“As I have said, Shepard, I cannot send you out on any mission based upon a dream.” Shepard was again holding her breath. “However, your report did indicate that there may be as yet uncharted and unsettled land in the east Atlantic. And if that is the case, it may interest the British government to see it added to our maps, and our Empire.” Shepard could not help the smile that broke out on her face.

Anderson stood, and Shepard stood before him at attention. “Your orders are as follows: You will, if possible, find this unclaimed island and, to the best of your ability, chart its salient features; it’s location, possible inlets or ports, any signs of habitation, and all other information which may help the Admiralty assess its strategic importance.”

“Yes, sir!” Shepard made to salute, but Anderson continued.

“If your reports are correct, you may need assistance in the charting of such an island. To that end, you are to seek out Dr. Liara T’Soni and request her aid. She is not a british citizen, but I can acquire funding for the study she may undertake, provided her report comes through you to the Admiralty first.”

“Yes, sir.” Shepard nodded.

“This mission will not be brief, Commander, but it also cannot take long. It will be no small effort on my part to keep others from making what will be seen as more salient demands on your time. You and your crew will leave as soon as repairs to the _HMS Normandy_ are complete, but I expect you back in Portsmouth before Christmas.” It was about nine months time. Several would be spent crossing the Atlantic and finding the island again. But it was a better opportunity than Shepard could have asked for or dreamed of this morning.

“Do what you can, Commander. I have been able to secure this time, but I will not be able to convince those bureaucrats for much more than this. If you can convince them of the islands’ strategic importance, they may listen. But I cannot say that will be easy, if it is as barren as you say. This may be your only opportunity to investigate before you and your ship are called back to normal duties.”

Admiral Anderson nodded, to indicate that her orders were complete, and Shepard finished her salute. “Good luck, Commander.” He extended his hand for a firm shake.

“Thank you, Admiral.” She replied, for far more than the well wishes.

“Keep in touch.” It was part of the order, she knew. “You are dismissed.”

\----------------------------------

Shepard felt like she was floating the rest of the day. Even if it would be several days before they set off, the wind was at her back again. She made her way around the city, seeking out each of her officers to inform them of their new orders. Normally she might just tell Lt. Alenko and let him sort out the rest, but today she had finally found employment, and was not about to delegate it away.

Her first stop was with chief engineer Adams to check in on the repairs. She found him amid a myriad of workers, working with a section of rigging. The drydocks were always an interesting place to be. They bustled with as many cultures, languages, and races of men as the port itself, but unlike the chaos of the docks, these men were all generally united in their task. And unlike the portside docks, which were a place of open sky and sea air, the drydocks were dominated by the gigantine figures of the ships which all this labour served. Everyone knew that ships were large; monumental feats of engineering. But seeing one fully out of the water, they seemed like huge beasts, a race of their own, dragonic and spindly, stretching high into the air, causing men to crane their necks to glimpse even the normally waist-high railing. It was impossible not to stare. There were several here in various stages of construction, and all of different design.

Fire lit in the Commander’s heart as her eyes lighted at last upon the form of the _HMS Normandy_, and she did not even attempt to restrain the brilliant smile from her lips. The ships’ magnificent form stood tall: a newly installed mainmast and various other repairs made her look good as new. The hull had been scraped and cleaned, and the black painted boards now gleamed in the sun, which they rarely saw. The paint was finished with red and with white, highlighting the gun deck and tracing the well fashioned lines of the prow. Also in white was the noble figurehead; a lithe angel, eyes cast forward and up, arms to her sides and wings streaming back as in a dive. She wore a sword, but bore an olive wreath in one hand. Winged Victory, they had called her: Nike herself. Shepard had always loved the carving, and was elated to see her again.

According to Mr. Adams everything seemed to be going as smoothly as could be expected. They were set to launch in early April, now only about a week away.

Shepard’s next appointment was with Steven Cortez, the ship’s quartermaster, to work up the order for their provisions. Nine months at sea, with a predicted resupply in Bermuda, and tools and supplies to survey new land. They would need munitions, and to prepare a cabin for Dr. T’Soni, if possible. Luckily the cabin which General Arterius had occupied had yet to be assigned. They would be making a transatlantic crossing, so normally available cargo space might be spared for anything His Majesty’s Navy might want brought to Bermuda, but they were to sail light and sail fast to complete their goal, and would take only what they needed for the trip. Mr. Cortez, as always, showed an almost preternatural ability to predict all of this the moment Shepard’s news reached his ears. Shepard was lucky to have so capable and intelligent an aide, and she told him as much.

“I’m just glad we’re headed south this time, Commander.” Cortez joked. “Bermuda by May sounds much better than the north atlantic in November. It’s a shame we couldn’t take the General across, but it’s been good to winter here on dry land.”

“I’m glad you got to spend time with your family, Cortez.” Shepard smiled. Cortez looked pointedly away.

“Yeah,” he said in short. Shepard knew that Cortez did not have much in the way of family, and she knew that he was rather private about that which he did have, and he had his reasons. She did not make a habit of prying into the lives of her men, but one could not spend too much time with a friend like Steve without hearing at least something about Robert, Steven’s lifelong friend and dearest companion, with whom Cortez had undoubtedly spent his shore leave. Shepard had offered Robert a place aboard the Normandy, knowing what it would mean to her quartermaster, but old injuries kept the former seaman from accepting. The one time she had gotten to meet Robert, he had charged her to bring Cortez back in one piece. So far, Shepard had not failed.

“We’ve only a week’s time to prepare. I trust that will be sufficient?” Shepard returned their conversation to the stable ground of the business at hand.

“Yes, sir!” Cortez gave a quick salute. “I will have the full documentation drafted and sent to your quarters in two days.”

Shepard nodded, and went her way. It was good to feel efficient and useful again. This new opportunity called for a little celebration. It was nearly evening now, so Shepard stopped to send out notes to her First and Second Lieutenants, Kaiden Alenko and Ashley Williams, in which she arranged to meet them over dinner. She took the time to return to her flat and change into somewhat less formal attire, thanking God that she was unlikely to visit the Court or the Admiralty office again soon. Back in the clothes she would normally wear for a day at sea, Shepard met up with her Lieutenants at a local public house and bought them all celebratory drinks.

As they ate Shepard laid out the plan which Admiral Anderson had given her, and gave a short report of the day.

“Thank God!” Ashley was the first to react to the news. “I don’t think I could take another month stationed here. I might die of a paper cut.”

Kaidan took his orders with a bit more reserve. “Back to this island, then. Hopefully under calmer seas.”

“I’ll drink to that!” Their Commander told them, raising her glass with a laugh.

They were in good spirits, but now that the three were reunited, memory of their time on the dark island which had rattled their Commander so badly hung heavy in the air. Time had given them some relief, but the awful smell of that place alone, aside from the foreboding mystery of its past, was not something to which they were quite ready to return.

Shepard found herself glancing around the room, wondering. Did these people know? It was something that she asked herself more and more these days, especially in a crowd. Did that couple in the corner know that a shadow hung over the world? Did that man at the bar realise that Atlantis was real? What would they think if they did? How would it change their lives?

Kaidan’s voice brought her back to the matter at hand. “So this Dr. T’Soni,” he ventured, “do you think she will know what we found on the island?”

“And does the island have a name? Or do we get to do that too?” Ashley joked.

“Uhg,” Kaiden joined in, “I can’t think of anything that would accurately depict the smell.”

“Maybe something ironic, then. ‘Perfumia’ has a ring.”

It made Shepard glad to see her officers in good spirits. It was their duty to follow her, but she did not know if, given their last experience, they would want to come. But they, like the Admiralty, seemed to quite fancy the idea of discovering and claiming new land, getting to add to the map as it were. And she knew that no matter the mission, neither would ever allow themselves to be left behind.

“In my notes I’ve been calling it Atlantis,” Shepard offered, and found herself lowering her voice. She had not told them the full extent as to why. But they were not ones to question or disbelieve her.

Silence held for a long moment as the two considered this. Then Ashley responded with a sly grin, “With respect, Commander, that displays a real lack of imagination.”

“Every thought of ‘Shepard-land?” Kaiden laughed.

“Oh, or ‘Shepardia’: The land with no sheep!”

At this Shepard could not help but join in on their humorous discourse. Soon nigh on a hundred names had been suggested, each more ridiculous than the last. In the end they drew straws, and Ashley’s title ‘_Allthemud_ Island’ won out. They all hoped that it wouldn’t stick.

The three young officers laughed and drank long into the night. Just, as Alenko said, like old times. Shepard had known them for years now. They met when she joined at the time Commodore Anderson’s crew, and when she was ready to take her own command Williams and Alenko were the obvious choices for her mates. Dr. Chakwas and Helmsman Moreau had also been reassigned to the _HMS Normandy_ with her by the Admiral, and Shepard would never have it any other way.

Nevertheless, something heavy hung over Shepard as the night wore on. She found herself looking around the room again, asking the same questions as before. It was late, now, and most of the crowd had changed. Every once in a while, in a crowd of strangers, Shepard would think of the market street she had seen a world away. How normal they all seemed. How any of these people might fit right in in a scene like that. How would they have reacted to the presence of a murderous cult? Could they, any of these men in women in this pub, commit such atrocities as she had seen? Despoina had told her that the Cult had always existed, and always would. If there were cultists in this world, would she know them on sight?

This time, Shepard’s contemplation was broken by a brief eye contact. The man at the bar stared at her, or rather caught her staring, and she quickly looked away. Something about this man caught in Shepard’s head. She had seen him before, she thought.

Shepard risked another look. The man seemed to be watching her. This was not a good sign. He appeared to be alone. He was thin, but tall. His skin was a few shades darker than her own, but that told her almost nothing of his origin in this part of London. Where had she seen him? Had he been at the dockyard? The Admiralty Office? Had this man been following her? Shepard tried to ignore it, tried not to let errant paranoia intrude on her thoughts. But once the thought entered her mind she could not seem to make it leave: The thought that perhaps the General had not in fact disappeared of his own accord. Perhaps he, too, had been followed. She knew that if the cult was after him, they would be after her. And maybe they were after all.

There was only one way to find out. Late into the night, the man at the bar was still there. “Well, gentlemen.” Shepard stood at last. “I think I will call it a night. Don’t worry, the tab is on me.” Ashley and Kaidan gave a little cheer. “We’ve one week to get all affairs in order, and we’ll be back on the _Normandy_, this time on warmer seas.” The officers stood and exchanged handshakes and pats on the back. Shepard resisted the urge to look at the man at the bar again as she sent her friends on their way and paid her bill. Without another glance, she walked out the door and turned down the lane.

If this man were following her, she would just make him keep up. And if he were not, she would have a nice walk before she went home. She made a clear turn away from the direction of her apartment and set out at a quick pace down a row of tall trading houses, tight packed and close to the pier. About halfway down this empty street she turned sharply again into the shadow of the first alley she saw. With any luck there would be - yes, that would do. Shepard ducked immediately behind a few stacked crates. Always trust a portside alley for some decent cover. This city was like a maze, and shipments like these were put anywhere that could be spared. Shepard pressed her back to the crates and tried not to glance around their edge. Now there was only to wait. If that man was following her, he would be around the corner any moment now. And if he wasn’t, well, no one could blame her for taking precautions.

Shepard was not in the habit of roaming London obviously armed. Her pistol was safely in its case back home. But she was also not in the habit of going anywhere without at least a decent knife. As she waited she removed the short blade as silently as she could from its sheath within her boot, and held it tight.

Moments spent waiting always felt like eternities. In this eternity, Shepard became extremely aware of the sounds that surrounded her: Her own breathing, as loud as a hurricane, the sound of the water lapping on the Thames docks, and footsteps. She heard the sound of footsteps coming closer, quickening, and coming closer still. He had turned the corner. It had to be him. He was following her after all. A brief wave of panic washed over her as she sat, alone in the dark, and wondered what connection this man might have to the thing she had seen in the shadowed crypt. And now he was only an arms reach away.

Shepard held her breath and listened as he took a few more steps, slowing in obvious confusion when he did not see her retreating form. She heard rather than saw him trace his hand along the crates she hid behind as he moved past them. It was dark here, she reminded herself. He would not see her.

A moment later she could see him. Moonlight illuminated his back as he stepped past her hiding spot. He was tall and slender. Clad in a long coat which looked simple but new; neither trimmed, as a gentleman, nor as hard worn as a working man. He was young, his dark hair tied back in a low ponytail like her own and covered with a simple tricorn. As he stepped cautiously past her she saw him reach into his coat to remove a pistol from his belt.

Shepard knew that if she were going to act, whether to fight or to flee, she needed to do it now. It would be easy to slip back into the road, backtrack her steps, and leave. She might even lose him. But she knew that if she did, she would be looking over her shoulder for the rest of her time in London, or quite possibly for the rest of her life. No, she had to confront him. It was now or never.

It was always the smallest momentary acts of will and courage that shape lives. And this, Shepard could already tell, was one of those moments.

“Drop it.” She ordered, stepping from the shadow. In one smooth motion she closed the distance between them, stepping into his space. Pressing herself close to his back, she eliminated all space to maneuver between them before either could land a blow. He was taller than she was, and would have both the strength and leverage to knock her off if he tried, so Shepard took every advantage, coming from behind. She stepped her right foot around his, ready to trip him if he tried to run, and, taking the knife in her left hand, she reached around him and placed it at his throat.

The man wheeled, but Shepard was ready. In her right hand she caught his wrist as he turned, forcing his pistol to point away, and pinned him against her.

The man slammed his back into her, hard, and dashed her against the brick wall behind them, but Shepard did not let go. With the motion she only gripped harder and brought his hand with her, knocking his knuckles on the bricks to force the pistol from his grasp.

“Hold still.” She insisted as it clattered to the ground. The man still had a hand free, Shepard was very aware, and likely had other weapons on his person. If she did not take charge and take it immediately, things would get messy. Using the blade in her hand, she tilted his head up and held it pinned to her shoulder. The man finally seemed to get the message, and stopped struggling at least for a moment.

“Why were you following me?” Shepard ground the question through her teeth, next to his ear.

“I have orders, Commander.” Came the reply. The man’s voice was deep, but clear. He had an accent that she could not immediately place. And he used her title. Not what she had expected from a mad cultist.

“Orders from who?” She knew she would only have time for a few questions before this man figured out a way out of her pin. His left hand had come to grip her wrist where she pressed her knife to his throat, and although he hadn’t tried to pry her off yet, he probably could.

“The Consulate. And the Emperor.” The man’s voice was strained, with his head tilted up to the sky. “He wants answers. Real ones.” He coughed, as if to test the pressure of the blade against him.

Surprise was getting the better of Shepard, and she hesitated. This man was not a cultist, but an Ottoman. An Ottoman spy, perhaps, and not a particularly good one. Lord Chancellor Udina had warned her about this, though grappling in an alley was a surprise.

In her moment of hesitation, the man decided to act. He seized her wrist and twisted hard, pulling the knife away from his throat and causing her to drop it. Taking his height as leverage he tried to wrench Shepard around to face him. Shepard had the advantage now though, and at once pulled back on his shoulder and sent a sharp, close kick to the back of his right knee. The man fell to one knee with a crash and Shepard followed him down. Disarmed, she released his wrist to loop her left arm around his throat and press it tight with her right in a stranglehold.

“So what, you were to follow me? Interrogate me?” She took a moment to kick at the pistol on the ground, forcing it away in case he tried to grab it. “Kill me?”

The man could barely respond, straining against her vice grip with both hands. He bent forward to gain some leverage, forcing Shepard to lean over him. “I’m not… an assassin.” He choked out, sounding hurt by the mere suggestion. A moment later he was standing - so fast Shepard couldn’t react. The force pulled Shepard form her feet for a moment and slammed her against the brick wall again. Dazed, she felt herself flung forward as the man ducked down again, tumbling her over his head and releasing his neck from her grasp.

The man was quick to follow up on his throw. He kept hold of Shepard’s left arm, pinning it behind her, and shoved her against the opposite wall. He leaned in close, putting his weight on her shoulder and pressing her face into the rough brick. “You don’t understand. I came to warn you, Commander.” He said, low and close. “You’re being followed.”

“Ha!” Shepard kicked and twisted. She did not manage to escape, but to at least turn herself around. She sent a punch to his chin, but he caught it, pressing her back against the wall now by both wrists held between them.

“Not by me.” He clarified. “I’ve been sent to find General Arterius, and what I’ve found…” He trailed off, and looked away. But the gravity in his voice kept Shepard from pressing her advantage.

It was the first time she’d gotten a good look at his face. His hat had been knocked off in their fight and the moonlight now illuminated sharp, angular features, a long, aquiline nose, and deep set blue eyes that caught her own at last.

“What have you seen?” Shepard had stopped fighting now and begun rapidly attempting to translate and interpret the fear in his eyes.

When she stilled, the man released her, and they stood for a moment in silence.

“You were right in your report, Commander. The General does not want to be found.” The man before her finally backed away. He bent down to fetch his hat, and his pistol, which he promptly stowed back in his belt. Finally, he picked up her knife from the ground. “And neither should you.” He said, offering it back.

Shepard took a moment, sizing this man up and down. “Why are you telling me this?” She took back the knife.

“You should make yourself scarce, Commander.” The man suggested as he put back on his hat and adjusted its brim. He looked one way and another down the alley, as if expecting to see someone else, then he dusted off his jacket and turned.

“That wasn’t an answer.” Shepard caught him by the sleeve as he made to walk away. “What aren’t you telling me?”

The man looked up and down the street again. “There have been… accidents, Commander. Nothing Captain Bailey and his lot have been able to connect, but far from coincidence,” he confessed in a whisper. “I would hate for you to become an accident.”

Shepard’s brow knit. “We leave in one week’s time.” Shit. Why had she told him that?

“I know.” The man tugged his sleeve back out of her hand. “That whole pub knows. You’re going after Dr. T’Soni too, I hear.”

“Damn.” Shepard was now the one looking up and down the alley.

“Take care, Commander. You are not the only one looking for answers. But I am not the only one looking for you.”

With that, the man left. Shepard stood for a moment in the alley, watching him go. “Damn.” She muttered again. She hadn’t even learned his name.


	7. Here We Go Again

The sooner they could leave, the better. Shepard had thought this from the moment they had set foot in London, and throughout the several months of court meetings and long repairs. But this final week was so, so much worse.

She was acting paranoid. She knew she was. But it felt justified, given the circumstances. She wished desperately that she had never met that mystery man in the alleyway. That she had not heard his warning and news. For now she could not so much as leave her house without looking both ways, convinced she was being followed. She could not have a conversation about her new commission outside the safety of her own home without assuming she would be heard. She had not seen the Ottoman again, but she had been looking. 

The fear had not paralyzed her - it would take a great deal more threat to do that - but it had changed her last week of shore leave freedom into a veritable prison sentence in the labyrinth that was London; filled with shadow and threat at every turn.

In the days before their departure Shepard met with Captain Bailey for that long promised drink, but their conversation was far from the relaxed camaraderie they had shared over tea. Shepard felt bad for pressing Bailey for information, and especially how blatantly she went about it. The police chief could tell that she was troubled.

“Commander.” He stopped her at last, “What is this about?”

Shepard hesitated, and that a bit too long. “I’ve just, uh.. Heard reports.”

“Anything in particular?”

“No, no, I just uh…”

Bailey raised an eyebrow. “Should I be concerned?”

Shepard could feel herself being faced with a choice. She could tell him the whole story, of course, of being followed, of their scuffle in a darkened alley by moonlight, and of the man’s indirect threat to her person and her mission. But something told her that she should not. Better not to get Bailey involved. Or possibly, better not get her mystery assailant involved. She did not have the faintest idea why she ought to protect him until the words were already out of her mouth: “No,” she confirmed. “I apologize. I’ve been paranoid. I am sure that it is all of these bad dreams. I wasn’t built for city life.”

“Aye, I’ll drink to that,” Bailey raised a toast and took a long swig, which Shepard copied, and motioned to the bartender to bring her friend one more.

“What are the two of us doing here, Bailey?” She asked, in the tone of someone with a very old soul indeed, and took another drink.

“Getting drunk after a long day’s work?” he finished his glass just as the new one arrived. “Always the best thing to do on someone else’ dime.”

Shepard laughed, “I certainly owe you a few. But best not send you home completely hammered. I hear that there is a Mrs. Bailey, and I don’t feel like getting on her bad side before we’ve even met.”

Bailey laughed boisterously at this, “She’d like you, James. You stick around any longer, she’d have you over for tea too, and dinner. She can cook up a storm.” He hummed in appreciation.

“I’d like that.” Shepard’s smile was genuine but far off, lost in the thought of home-cooked, mother-made, family dinners with friends. Maybe she’d been doing shore leave wrong the whole time. It was a point that Bailey was only beginning to drive home.

The police chief took a long draught of his beer, and Shepard followed suit. She was about a pint behind him, but it was not a race she was looking to win. He let out a satisfied sigh, and looked again to Shepard just as she was handing her glass back to the barmaid with a “thank you” and a winning smile.

“Say what about you?  _ Commander _ , eh? That fancy title work on the ladies?” he grinned as Shepard looked at him, incredulous for a moment, and tried not to dart her eyes back to the barmaid as she walked away. “A young man like yourself, in such a station, and unmarried. I’m surprised they aren’t fawning all over you by now.”

Ah. Shepard’s face flushed a pinker tint than the beer had lent it. She would never tell him, but the Captain was far from wrong. 

“Yes, well,” Shepard swallowed a small lump in her throat. “I suppose I hadn’t given it much thought,” she lied. “I don’t have many prospects here in London. No family, no land…” This was closer to the truth.

“You’ve your commission.”

“Aye, if they’d ever let me back to it.” Bailey raised his glass in a silent ‘cheers’. Shepard meant to change the subject, but now her mind was racing to find another excuse. She had quite a list prepared, although they always abandoned her when she needed them.

“I suppose it’s hard to see them.” She said, “My thoughts are out to sea. And all my time claimed by the Chancellor, as well.” It was another lame excuse, but it made Bailey laugh.

“Next time you’re on shore leave maybe you’ll find a girl. Or if not, maybe my wife’ll find one for you while you’re gone.”

Shepard only gave a small smile in response as she finished her drink. It wasn’t a bad idea, and one she couldn’t say she hadn’t thought on herself. One she might have even acted towards, now and again. But it would never lead to anything, she knew. This world was not friendly to people like her, and pursuing anything more than a fanciful flirtation was downright dangerous. Revealing one’s biggest, career-ending and quite possibly deadly secret was not the kind of conversation one has with someone they’ve only just met before leaving them in London for several long months at sea. And doing anything less than that would definitely be leading some poor girl on.

It was one of the greatest blessings and curses of her masculinized life. When she was younger she thought that being perceived as a man would make things easier: It would make people take seriously any intention she might have to court a woman, and save her from having to hide such affections from the world. In reality, it had made it harder. Being a man seemed to bar her from all female company except that which was distant and polite. For over every conversation with a member of her own sex the thought which Bailey had so eloquently expressed hung like the sword of Damolces; that a man of her station must be in want of a wife. It would have hurt less if it weren’t patly true, but wholly out of reach.

Still, Shepard had learned to turn even this to her advantage. Having intimate knowledge of both men’s and women’s worlds let her speak with insight and understanding few men or women possessed, like a bridging link between the two. She was not cowed by the ideals of mildness or the expectation of quiet living, nor was she cajoled into believing the society of women lesser than her own; a perspective which itself drew women to her company, although they themselves might not know why. She often wished she could tell them. It was not romance but the simple and implicit sisterhood of the women around her that she missed most. But since an explanation would quite literally risk her neck, Shepard instead settled for a reputation as a curious friend to women, and at times a harmless flirt. If this, combined with her aversion to any serious interest in procuring a wife despite her extremely eligible status at times painted her as a young rapscallion in the eyes of the world, that was perhaps still better than the world knowing the truth. 

All the same, when men like Bailey talked of going home to a home and a family Shepard wished that she, too, could see more of her future than James. For she could never remain ‘James’ to someone she loved. 

“To next time.” She answered at last, and Bailey patted her back.

“Next time!” he cheered.

“Next time, you’re buying.” Bailey pretended to mope at this, and Shepard knew that he’d had enough. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

\-----------------------------

At last, the day arrived. After a full one hundred and thirty-one days at port, the  _ HMS Normandy  _ and her crew were finally ready to depart. One hundred thirty-one days of courtrooms and cobblestones, and they were finally returning to sea. Shepard woke early and did her last bit of packing, shook hands with the landlord, and headed off to the docks.

The sun shone bright and warm as Shepard made her way through the busy morning streets of London, letting herself take in their sights and sounds one last time before they were away. She would not especially miss them. But the city did look lovely this time of year, much more than the chill of winter in which they had arrived. She took a deep breath and let the warm gaiety of spring fill her lungs and smiled. Soon it would be saltwater and the ocean winds, instead of the somewhat murky smell of the streets and the Thames. She checked her pocket watch. 10:05. It was almost time.

There would be a great deal less pomp and circumstance to this launching than at the offset of the  _ Normandy _ ’s maiden voyage, but under the circumstances she wouldn’t put it past the Admiral to show up and personally wish them well. It was, all told, an impressive feat of engineering to be re-launching a boat as badly damaged as the  _ Normandy _ even after one hundred and thirty-one days. And then there was the mission itself. Shepard knew that the Admiral was not without risk in this voyage. He had done a lot to grant them the opportunity, and she was going to make the most of it.

“Commander!” Shepard heard an exuberant voice call and looked up to find Lieutenant Williams, also clearly headed to the dock. She smiled and stayed as Ashley sped to catch up with her.

“All prepared?”

“Aye, Commander, and ready to be off.” Ashley gave a quick salute.

“Is that all you’ve brought?” She raised an eyebrow. Lieutenant Williams barely had anything in that bag. 

“Some of us know how to pack light.” Ashley raised an eyebrow in jest. The two officers had a long running joke about the amount of packing necessary for several months at sea, and what all should be included. Both of them were forced to pack a few more essentials than some of the men, although doctor Chakwas helped make sure they always had what they needed.

The three officers: The Commander, her second mate, and the ship doctor, shared a special and secret bond, and one which always served to reassure Shepard that she was not alone. Shepard had been astonished but quietly overjoyed to find, upon joining at that time Commodore Anderson’s crew, that she was not the only woman aboard. Given the circumstances of her arrival on board Anderson’s  _ HMS Hastings  _ Shepard at first feared being found out, but soon discovered that Dr. Chakwas was not only fully willing to keep her secret, but that the good doctor had a similar secret of her own. Until that day, Shepard had not realised what a weight she had been carrying alone. For over five years Shepard had lived in secrecy, silence, and lies. The ability to share her troubles with even one soul was nothing short of a miracle. And so when she was offered her first command, Dr. Karin “Christopher” Chakwas had been her very first appointment.

Lieutenant Ashely Williams had been somewhat more difficult to figure out. She was exceptionally good at maintaining her disguise; a professional through and through. But the closer they became, both serving as Lieutenants under Anderson on the  _ Hastings _ , the more Shepard suspected the truth. It still made her laugh to remember the way they both felt the need to hide from each other for so long, and how Shepard had finally broken their silence on the matter by boldly purchasing Ashley a gift; a shaving kit, which she knew the Lieutenant did not need. She had never seen Williams shave, and through sharing a bunk room knew that she did not own the means to, despite always appearing perfectly clean shaven. “ _ Best to keep up appearances _ ” she had written on a note with the package. It could have easily been seen as a joke between two men, especially with the recipient as young as she was, but it was just enough to let Ashley know that Shepard was onto her. When a rather nervous Williams had tried to thank her for it the following day, Shepard had finally laid all cards on the table by confessing that she, too, had no real use for the shaving kit in her pack but it was, as she said, best to keep up appearances. It had been a risky move, but it more than paid off. In the end, Shepard had taught Ashley to shave, or imitate shaving, and the two had been the closest of friends since. Only Alenko’s longer service tenure made him her first mate, along with Shepard’s wish to avoid any show of favoritism. They sometimes talked of whether Alenko knew. But if he did, he showed no sign of it.

On a day like today, however, such secrets were the last thing on Shepard’s mind. Soon they would set to sea, and all would be right again.

The two officers came around the corner to a magnificent sight. The  _ HMS Normandy,  _ no longer in dry dock, waited for them in all her glory. Shepard felt pride well in her chest at the sight. The beautiful ship really did look good as new. Her new mast stood tall and sturdy, the deck and hull both gleaming clean. Around her crewmen swarmed in and out, loading up their provisions. First Mate Alenko was already aboard overseeing this task. So caught up in appreciating this long awaited moment, Shepard almost didn’t see the men who had arrived to ruin her day.

“Commander Shepard.” It was not the voice of Admiral Anderson who called her out of her trance, but the nasally, low voice of Lord Chancellor Udina; the last man on earth she wanted to meet today. Shepard looked to see him standing with a small group of men, all dressed much more finely than the dockhands surrounding them. Admiral Anderson was with them, as was Admiral Hackett, and two men she did not recognize. Such a party at such a time could mean nothing good.

“Yes, sir?” She responded with a brief salute, more to the Admirals than the man addressing her, and waited for them to put her at ease.

“Commander, this is the the Ottoman Consulate, Ambassador Laiel Sparatus” Udina gestured to a tall man next to him with a frankly impressive mustache and a red and purple turban who nodded a greeting, catching Shepard’s eye with an evaluative but not unfriendly glance.

“Good to meet you, Ambassador.” Shepard nodded back, mind working a mile a minute to guess what this could be about. It was clearly not just a social call. They did not want to interview her again, surely.

“You as well, Commander.” The Ambassador’s voice was deep and his tone measured to betray no emotion except that which was explicitly approved for display. “The Lord Chancellor and I have been discussing the matter which has kept you in port so long, and it is excellent to put a name to your face at last.”

“You must forgive my forthrightness, but may I ask what this is about?” Shepard turned impatient eyes towards the Lord Chancellor, and a quick glance at the Admirals to seek any sort of help.

“Commander, in the light of recent events Ambassador Sparatus has asked a small favor of us, in the spirit of peace.” It was Admiral Hackett who answered. Shepard could feel herself standing more to attention at the man’s solid and unquestionable voice. All the same, she could tell already that whatever this favor was, it was not going to be small, and she was definitely going to be asked to carry it out. “As General Arterius joined you on your last mission in which you first sighted the island which you are to chart, the Ambassador wishes to send another one of the Emperor's men in his stead. The Ottomans have revoked all formal claim on the land, should it be settled, but wish to join your exploratory expedition, and I have promised our full cooperation.”

Shepard stood, blinking and lost for words a moment. “Of course.” She acquiesced at last, unable to do anything else and searching for any other response. “The General’s cabin however-”

“Has been allocated for Dr. T’Soni, yes we know.” the Admiral finished for her.

“It is quite alright.” The Ambassador assured, “The Major is more than willing to bunk with your men. He is an intelligent, hard working man and will pull his weight,” he looked to the man beside him with a smile. The other man, much younger and surprisingly clean shaven for an Ottoman soldier, wore a long robe-like shirt of the Ottoman style, blue, over loose grey trousers. He had a round, brimless black hat instead of a turban, and held at his side an immensely long and intricately decorated rifle that could only be of Ottoman make.

“Of course, sir.” He confirmed briefly, and at last looked to Shepard.

On catching the man’s eye Shepard could feel her jaw drop open, and her mind go momentarily blank and she struggled to fit together the pieces of what she was being told. It was him. The man from the alleyway. The Ottoman spy who had followed her, fought her, and warned her. He was here. He was here and he was coming with them.

“Commander Shepard, may I present Major Garrus Vakarian.” The Ambassador announced proudly.

Shepard was still working to get her mouth to close, and make something even approaching an appropriate response. Quiet rage was beginning to bubble in the back of her mind. How dare this man stand there and insinuate himself into her crew, after the stunt he had pulled. She held his eye for a moment longer, still lost for words. She could tell them what happened of course; accuse him in front of all these men, in front of their superiors, and attempt to refuse. He knew it too, from the wary look in his eye.

At last, Shepard regained what composure she had. “Welcome aboard, Major.” Her voice was stiff, and she did not break eye contact with the man. As if breaking a spell, she offered her hand and gave his a firm, authoritative shake. “Honored to have you.”

“The honor is mine, Commander.” Garrus returned her firm handshake. Whatever words must pass between them about this, they would need to wait.

“Lieutenant Williams,” Shepard still had not looked away from this intruder into her ranks. “Find the Major a place a bunk among the men, he will be joining us.” She instructed, as if Ashley had not witnessed the entire stilted exchange.

“Yes, sir.”

As they walked away Shepard moved her glare from Vakarian to Udina briefly before deciding not to give the Lord Chancellor a second thought. What was done was done. She moved her attention to her Admirals. “Thank you for coming, sir, sir.” She nodded to both of them in turn, clearly attempting to look past the entire former exchange and restore some normalcy to their departure.

“Of course, Commander.” Admiral Anderson offered a warm handshake. “It’s not every day we send a ship to chart new lands. You have all the equipment you need?”

“Yes sir, thank you sir. And I will do everything within my power to bring her back in just one piece.”

“Good to hear, Commander.” Hackett was sporting something dangerously close to a smile. “It’s not every day,” he echoed, “that a second maiden voyage is launched.” He, too, shook her hand. “Godspeed, Commander. We will see you in nine months’ time.”

Shepard nodded. She knew they were expected back before Christmas, but hearing the Admiral say it, the necessity of speed in their journey really began to sink in.

“Good luck, Commander.” Anderson put a hand on her shoulder. “I will await your reports. I pray you find Dr. T’Soni in good health and amenable to assist you.” He lowered his voice somewhat, though not enough that Admiral Hackett could not hear. “I know that this is important to you, Commander. Make the most of what time you have. Godspeed, and good luck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really let this fic get away from me. Apologies for the delay, and thank you to everyone hanging in there!


	8. Major Vakarian

Setting off from London meant traversing the Thames to its delta before sailing around Dover and through the channel out to sea. It gave one plenty of time to settle in, and the crew were in high spirits. Besides giving general encouragement and orders everyone already knew, Commander Shepard had very little to do. Which meant she had nothing to distract her from the large elephant aboard her ship which came in the form of a tall Turkish man.

She could see him attempting to make himself useful, following whatever instruction he could find as far as which lines needed pulling taut. At least the man was, as had been said, a hard worker. Even though his knowledge of ships was evidently naught.

The very sight of him made her furious, which would not do for nine months at sea. There was only one thing for it. A few hours after they were underway Shepard left the helm in Lt. Alenko’s capable hands and descended to the deck.

“Major Vakarian, my office.” She addressed loudly, and did not even give him the courtesy of a glance, but walked straight for her cabin door, knowing her summons must be implicitly obeyed.

“Aye, sir.” Garrus obligingly followed on her heels. “You wished to see me, Commander?” he kept his tone conversational as they entered the room.

Shepard wasted no time. “What the  _ hell  _ are you doing on my ship?” She slammed a fist down on her desk the moment the cabin door was closed.

Major Vakarian stood at attention and cleared his throat. “As the Ambassador suggested-“ he began.

“I don’t give a shit about what the Ambassador suggested,” Shepard cut him off, leaning across her desk towards him. “I want to know why you - of all people - are on my ship. This was not a coincidence, Major, so do not tell me you did not have a hand in it.”

“G-Given the nature of our first meeting…”

“Given the nature of our first meeting, do you think I am someone who likes being surprised?”

The question hung in the air a moment as she glared at him. Vakarian’s eyes were cast down; nailed, it seemed, to the desk between them. He took a breath and swallowed. Shepard decided to end this before it got worse. 

“Commander, I-“

“I want an explanation, Major Vakarian,” She cut him off again. “And if you say anything to suggest that your presence is in view of my  _ safety _ ,” she veritably spat, “I will remind you not only that I have full control of your duties whilst onboard, but that while it would be politically inconvenient for the both of us if you were to see the inside of my brig during your tenure here, it is a risk I am willing to take.”

The Major’s eyes finally met her own, and that with a surprising amount of nerve. “Commander, I wish to genuinely apologize for the manner in which all of this has been carried out. You’ve every right to be upset. But if for anyone’s safety, this posting is for my own.” His tone was solid, indefatigable. “Everything I told you at our last meeting is true. I regret the way in which it was said, of course, and that I have done anything to put us into conflict. I beg you pardon me, and give me the chance to set right what I can. Or at least to offer what explanation of my behavior I may.”

Shepard merely nodded her assent, teeth still clenched.

“My orders that night were to gather any information I could, including by tailing you, but not to confront you myself,” Garrus reported quickly. “But seeing as I obviously failed, I reported back to the Consulate to apply for reassignment.”

“And they, what, thought they would just send you to meddle further, seeing as it went so well the first time?”

Garrus continued, unshaken by her interruption. “That night I could not sleep. I found myself pouring over my notes, and over the account you gave to the Lord Chancellor, which was shared with the Consulate, although probably somewhat censured. Given the… incidents I had encountered, which I mentioned to you, I could not help but agree with your indignation that everything you reported was going on ignored. My reports, too, had fallen on deaf ears. So I hoped that despite our unfortunate meeting, perhaps together we would have more of a chance. I hoped that we might join forces more amicably, but with the time of your departure being so short, it was all I could do to convince the Ambassador that my placement here would be in the best interest of the Empire, and not merely my own.”

It was the most words she had ever heard him say together, but Shepard was growing impatient. “You still have not answered my question, Major.”

“The reason I am here, Commander,” Garrus once again caught her eye, and held it. “Is that I believe you. The world is under threat. You’ve seen it, and fought it. And somehow, you’ve found the leave to pursue it, too. And once I knew that, I knew I could not stand by and do nothing. I want to help, Commander. And I am ready and willing to follow any order you give, rest assured.”

“Hmm.” There was an unshakable sincerity in his voice, Shepard noted. Far more than even the members of her own crew had concerning this matter. She remembered the look on his face in the alleyway, when he had shared his warning. There was no malice in this man, however much he had overstepped his bounds. “Tell me about these incidents. I want details.” Her tone was still short and direct but she finally relaxed her stance and took her seat, gesturing that the Major had permission to take one of his own. He was still carrying all he had brought with him on his back, and set the pack aside to join her, but would not be distracted from his task.

“Thank you, sir.” Garrus was a man of excellent posture who sat on the edge of his seat and spoke with his hands. “General Arterius is not the first person to go missing, Commander,” he asserted, “and he won’t be the last. In my research I found several similar accounts; seamen returning from voyages, often wracked by storm, or stranded for days uncounted. They speak of horrors they have seen, only to never be heard from again.”

Shepard fought a shiver from running down her spine at the news, which rang far too true.

“And that’s not all,” Garrus continued. “There have been even stranger accounts. I’ve heard in rumors, stories people share without daring imagine them true: Reports from different, unconnected sources about nightmares which seem to be shared not only by one mind, but by many, all occurring on the same night. Artists and poets who dream dreams the likes of which cannot be described by any of their craft, of huge cities and monstrous shadows. Some of these men have even been driven into the asylums, fevered and irrational.” Garrus’ voice was deep and low as he told these tales, but factual. “There was, it seems, a spike in these types of cases on the date you indicated in your reports having been hit by that storm. More than that, though… My people have been disappearing, Commander.”

“Your own men have seen visions?” She could not help but be wrapped in his tale. But the news of Vakarian having lost men was grave indeed.

“No, sir. Or at least if they did, I never heard of it. There was a small team of us. It began as a curiosity, months back now. I was on a detachment working together with the local police - Captain Bailey’s, men, I know you two are close.”

It was hard to forget that this man knew more of her time in London than any such a veritable stranger ought.

“In the name of ‘international cooperation’, we were being trained in how the British State works, and were allowed to help pursue a few cases. Mostly cold cases, you understand, just to learn the process. The Consulate did not care if we were successful in solving any of these, just that we learned from the best London had to offer while we were here. That was until General Arterius disappeared. Even before then, however, we had started to find… disturbing patterns, as I mentioned. Eventually, just before you and the  _ Normandy  _ returned for repairs, one of my own men went missing. And then another. Two more while we were looking for Arterius.”

“Killed?” Shepard stood briefly and poured the man a small drink, and one of her own. Although she did not store much, keeping brandy on board was one of the benefits of being a Commander. And if other men began sharing her visions and nightmares, she might need more of it.

“Thank you, sir.” Garrus took a small appreciative drink before continuing, “And I cannot say. That’s the worst of it. They were good men and true, and I cannot help feeling like their vanishing was an act of will - either their own, or a malevolent hand.” Shepard nodded and took a sip of her drink. “Perhaps they did find Arterius after all. The Consulate of course tried to hush it up. They had already lost a General, they didn’t need to be seen misplacing any more soldiers in domestic affairs on foreign soil.”

Shepard was beginning to appreciate this man’s candidness, to speak of his own nation’s action so in front of an officer of another Empire. On a lesser man it might have appeared a vulgar disregard for the expected propriety of his post, but between themselves, all it meant was that they were two soldiers cut from the same cloth, interested in truth and not secrets, and in getting things done.

Garrus paused to take another sip, steadying his nerves for the topic at hand. “I knew then if I kept poking at the shadows alone, I too would be disappeared. So I started following the one person who seemed to have any real understanding of the matter who had not - yet - been vanished. You.”

Shepard nodded, but did not reply for a long moment, letting the story settle in her mind. “I am sorry to hear about the loss of your men,” she offered at last, when they had both finished their drinks.

“Yes, it… I wish I could have done more. Could have avoided this. If I only knew how, or what, or who…” Garrus looked off, outside the window behind her, and sighed heavily. “That is why I am here, Commander,” he looked to her again. “That’s the long and short of it. Whatever use you may find for me, I am both safer and better equipped to engage in this fight on board the  _ Normandy,  _ and I wish to be of whatever aid I can. I regret not being able to consult you on the matter before now, and I am sorry that you did not have a choice in this, Commander. But I want to thank you, in any case.”

“Mmm.” Shepard sat for a moment, eyes far off and lost in thought. Her gaze fell to his equipment. “You are a trained sniper, I take it? And scout?” Garrus had left his rifle leaning against the wall behind him when he sat down. It was a remarkable piece of work.

“Yes, sir.” He sat up a bit straighter again. “Although I confess I have spent a small amount of time at sea, I do know cannons and firearms of all sorts, and I hope to show myself a valuable addition to your crew, on land and sea.” The line sounded like something the Ambassador had him memorize.

“Very well.” Shepard stood at last, and Garrus followed her to his feet. “Thank you for your report, Major Vakarian. It is clear that I would be a fool to deny the use of a man of your skills, insights, and conviction. And I am no fool.” She collected their glasses and put them away, turning round to find him once again at attention. 

Shepard gave him one last appraisal before settling the matter in her mind once and for all. “Despite the circumstance of your joining us, what is done is done, and you are now one of my crew.” She explained. “I keep a tight ship, Major. I expect my men to work hard and well, and to report any form of misbehavior - including if any man here offers any disrespect of yourself or your Empire. I won’t stand for that sort of thing, as they well know. You may report to Lieutenant Williams for shift and deck assignment, wherever there is need.”

“Of course, Commander. Thank you, sir.”

“As I said ashore, I am afraid that despite your rank we’ve only room for you to bunk with the crew for now, though given your circumstance, you may join the officer’s mess.”

“I would be honored, sir.”

“I trust you will also keep me informed. If anything related to your research of the… incidents in London appears pertinent, you are to report it to me at once, and report it to me and me alone.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you, Major, you are dismissed.”

Garrus nodded and raised a hand to his brow in a quick salute, gathering his things and ducking out of the door. The man was altogether too tall to be comfortable onboard this ship, but he would manage, she was sure.

Now, then, she had the rest of their course to chart. It was a long way to Bermuda, and she meant to follow as closely to their former path as the wind allowed, hoping to catch sight of the mysteriously appeared island on their way, to put the first marks on her map. It would be good to have more of a description to provide Dr. T’Soni, if it could be had. Although it was not a place she would ever be able to forget, in any detail. Even now, the smell of that place came back to her. Perhaps it would be good, having at least one more soul aboard who seemed to genuinely believe her about what she had seen. Perhaps this Major Garrus Vakarian would be in at least some way prepared for what lay ahead, as much as anyone could be. It was more than she could say for most of her crew.

Nine month’s time. It would be a long and stressful nine months. And, she could feel already, it would not be nearly enough. 

\-------------------------

The  _ HMS Normandy _ ’s first few days at sea passed without much incident. The crew could not help but rejoice in the much fairer weather than they had faced in November - and tell stories meant to frighten the newest addition to the crew. Shepard kept a close eye on Major Vakarian, to see that he was taught well what it took to keep a ship like the  _ Normandy  _ running smooth. He held his own well during the inevitable wave of seasickness that washed over any new recruit at sea, and although he seemed mostly to keep to himself when not on watch, his willingness to lend a hand with any and all work and to be taught any and everything that he could learn ingratiated him well into the crew. It might take a sight longer before her Lieutenants would really trust him. And hell, Shepard wasn’t sure if she would ever  _ really  _ trust him herself. But she was not one to complain for an extra set of hands.

Days turned swiftly into weeks, and with a good wind at their back it took next to no time to reach their last known location. Shepard posted watch men at all hours with spy glasses both on deck and the fighting top. But as they sailed south and west, no report was heard. She and her newly appointed navigator, Mr. Traynor, spent hours going over charts together to try and piece together what information they had. The damned storm and cloud cover afterwards, along with their quick departure from the island’s dark shores, made for difficult work.

“I can’t narrow the search radius any more,” Traynor sighed in frustration and leaned back from his map. “I took readings all the way home, but without knowing our precise direction at the time, it’s all dead reckoning.”

“It’s well done you’ve got us this far,” Shepard offered some support. “We’ll slow the ship by night, give our men a better chance of spotting something.”

“We might be able to run somewhat serpentine, once we get to the southeastern point of our radius, here. If the wind stays fare for it.”

“The island was small, and dark. It might take a couple of passes. It’s no wonder it’s not on the charts yet.”

“Commander what if…” Traynor stopped, frozen for a moment as he caught Shepard’s eye, and nearly swallowed what he had to say.

“What if?” The Commander prompted.

“What if… It’s not there.” Mr. Traynor’s voice was small and hesitant.

“Ah.” Shepard took the suggestion to heart. It was a fear that had plagued her as well. What if it really had all been some sort of fevered dream? Or if it really was Atlantis, maybe they mythic island came and went, swallowed by the sea again. Then what report could she return? She had risked more than just her own good word on this mission. “Then... we…” 

If there were any poetic justice in the world - if God had any sense of dramatic timing - it would have been that moment that one of her Lieutenants burst in with good news and ‘land ho’ was called. As it was, no such savior arrived.

“I won’t lie to you, Mr. Traynor. There is a chance that you are right, we will not find it. In fact, I believe that most of the Admiralty in London expects this to be the case. But our orders are to find and chart this island, and so that is what we will do. To the best of our ability, and with what time we have.”

“Yes, sir. Of course. I didn’t mean any-”

“Don’t apologize.” Shepard stopped him. “I’m relying on you to keep asking questions like that. Someone needs to. There may come a time when I have to make a hard call to abandon this search. How long do you think it might take for us traverse this whole path?”

“A… a week? Nine days, perhaps? If the wind holds. Two weeks, max. I can write up a path, of course.”

“Good man. And keep up the lead line tests. I would hate to sail over it, or worse, strike its rocks. I know it’s difficult, this far out to sea. But there’s got to be something out there.”

“I’ll keep you informed, sir.” Traynor was gathering up his things.

“Thank you, Mr. Traynor.” Shepard held the door of the cabin, letting them both back out into the light of day. “I trust your reckoning.” She added. The boy nodded, but kept his eyes down. Shepard’s brow knit, and she caught his arm as he walked through the door. “It’s not your fault we didn’t get an accurate reading of the island the first time.” She insisted. “I gave the order to disembark before the clouds cleared. There’s nothing more you could have done.” It had been poor Mr. Traynor’s first day at his new post, and she could tell from his face he already felt he had let her down.

“Thank you, sir.” The young man managed, and Shepard gave him a pat on the back.

“Chin up, Mr. Traynor!” Shepard now spoke aloud as they walked together back within earshot of the crew. “Any day now, you’ll be charting a new shore! It’s not every navigator who gets to add to his maps.” 

A small cheer greeted her encouragement, and Shepard smiled out at her men. It felt good to have the ocean air on her face again. She had spent the majority of her life here, out to sea. With nothing but sky and water, as far as the eye could see. She normally found solace here, in her own way. But despite all her encouragement and bravado, the utterly empty horizon had begun to gnaw at her gut. What if they never did find it? What if, as Mr. Traynor has said, it wasn’t there?

Shepard stayed near the helm until the bosun called a shift change. She barely restrained a laugh when she saw the hesitant, somewhat spindley form of Major Vakarian then lowering himself down in the rigging. He would gain his footing after a time. She was impressed it only took him a few weeks to brave the heights.

“How do you like our fighting top, Major?” She called as his feet hit the deck. “Fit for a marksman like yourself?”

Garrus laughed. “It’s quite the experience.” He dusted himself off a bit. “I’ve never been up a tree that moved so much.”

Shepard hummed agreement, and Garrus went on his way. Perhaps she should go up to the look out point herself. It had been some time. It was not expected of a Commander to monkey up and down the rigging with the crew. But there was something so freeing in it, despite the restricted space. And maybe, just maybe, she told herself despite all reason, maybe from so high up, armed only with a spyglass and hope, she would see the island when the others could not.

She would wait until she had their course, until they were in the search area proper. Until then, their intentionally slowed pace would leave the men restless. And while she trusted her lieutenants to maintain discipline among her crew, she could think of a few decent uses for their time, to keep up morale and keep her officers sharp.

It was a few days later that Shepard gave her suggestions at the officer’s mess. Having followed the serpentine course set by Mr. Traynor for a full ten days, staying the sails at night for the best hope of spotting their quarry and yet spying nothing, the officers were more than ready to hear about anything besides combat station drills and keeping the desk spotlessly clean.

“I thought that tomorrow…” Shepard smiled, ready to see the look on her officer’s faces at the suggestion. “Lieutenant Alenko, you have your sword? And Williams?”

“Aye, Commander.”

“Of course, sir.” Her Lieutenants answered at once, their peaked interest evident.

“How would you feel about running through a few practice drills in the morning? Maybe even a friendly spar? A bit of a demonstration. For the men.” Shepard’s smile proved utterly contagious. “I cannot sail with untrained hands, after all.”

“Aye, Commander!” Alenko echoed again, reflecting the mood of the whole room. “A wonderful idea.”

“Then it is settled.” Shepard sat back, finished with her meal, and made to stand. “You are all welcome to join, of course. As are the midshipmen. God knows a few of them could use some training with a blade.” This was met with general gaiety. Shepard noted the one conspicuous outlier in this was the rather quiet Major Vakarian. Her open invitation was to the whole room, but mainly to him, as she suspected none among her navigator, carpenter, quartermaster, and doctor fancied extra training in swordsmanship. She hoped he would join in. “We’ll begin after tomorrow’s battle stations drill.”


	9. Good Show

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: non-graphic violence, brief mention of blood, serious breaches of decorum.

“ _ En garde,  _ Lieutenant!” It had been some time since Shepard’s saber had seen the light of the sun in anything but a salute. But her form and motion came back as naturally as swimming after a dive.

Her idea to run a few instructional drills for the junior officers had been a great success thus far. This was none of their first time holding a blade, but it might as well have been for a few. Without any training targets, she had mostly run them through proper blocking technique, rather than have a line of midshipmen stabbing uselessly at the air.

“What is the first rule of combat?” She had put Midshipman Vega on the spot to start things off. The sword he borrowed from Lt. Alenko looked small in his large hands. He looked down at it and answered with a joke, as was his way.

“The… The sharp end goes into the other man?” The crew laughed, and the braver among them cheered.

Shepard flashed a quick smirk, the only warning before she threw a blow full force towards Vega’s head, forcing the man to quickly interpose his blade to hers. It was a sloppy block, but effective.

“To not die, Mr. Vega.” Shepard’s blade, inches from his face, would make sure it was not a lesson he would forget. She raised her voice to address the whole crew. “The first rule of combat is this: Do. Not. Die.” As she gave this grave order, Shepard sent three more blows in rapid succession; low, middle, high. Vega was ready this time. He parried, sidestepped, and blocked. It was, again, not exactly graceful, but it did the job. The man clearly had some skill.

Shepard relaxed, and Vega pushed her blade away. “Congratulations on surviving, Mr. Vega.” The midshipman gave a bow, to the crew’s delight. “I’m sure you could teach these men a thing or two.” Vega was the most senior among her midshipman, although he himself was only a few years over twenty. He had failed his first lieutenant's exam, but had taken the setback with grace. More importantly, though, Vega was her best lead line into the life of her men. He was a leader, and if the men had any issue of which an officer like her self ought to know, they trusted Vega to speak on their behalf.

She ran a few basic blocking and parrying drills with the rest of the midshipmen, and did some demonstrations with Lt. William’s aid. But everyone knew that the real show would come when Lieutenant Alenko took back his blade. A decent portion of the  _ Normandy _ ’s crew had also been aboard the  _ HMS Hastings _ under Anderson’s command. They had seen lessons like this one taught by the former Commodore when Shepard herself was his lieutenant. And they always ended with a friendly yet competitive match between Anderson and his first mate - which she only once had won. Now Shepard and Alenko were ready to fulfil the role.

“ _ En garde _ yourself,” was Kaiden’s reply as he took the first move; a quick, testing lunge. Shepard parried easily, and Kaiden sent a few more. The Commander was not pressing any advantage or striking back. Not yet, anyway. She would let him tire himself out a bit first. She sidestepped, and stepped closer, controlling his targets. She knew Kaiden and his tactics well. The man was poised, precise, and tactical: A surgeon to Vega’s butcher shop blows. He would look to catch her wide and disarm her. So Shepard held back, keeping her blade centered and letting him dive at her again. 

It didn’t take long for Alenko to catch on to her game and adapt. Eventually, he forced Shepard to strike. The pair exchanged a few crosses, playfully circling each other. This was, after all, a show. Fighting and gambling were both strictly forbidden in His Majesty’s Navy, but shows of skill were fair game.

Alenko’s form was excellent. He wielded a sword like a gentleman, and had studied well. But Shepard knew that he lacked exactly what she had drilled into Vega: The dogged, unwavering will to survive all odds. Shepard on the other hand knew this determination well. She fought with cunning, and with grit. The rules of form were all well and good until someone was actually thrusting a blade into your guts. After that, no holds were barred. The true survivor was the one who realised that no holds were barred before her enemies’ steel tasted flesh, and that advantage went to whoever turned the tables first. It was a lesson she had learnt the hard way, and one which Admiral Anderson had helped cement. Now she had a chance to make sure Lt. Alanko learned it before it was too late.

Fighting someone who was not prepared for a breach of form was easiest of all. Shepard lead him on into a thrust that outstretched him just a bit too much. She sidestepped, and then broke the rules: Gripping his sword hand as it passed her, she pulled him further forward by the arm. The momentum sent Alenko tripping forward and to the ground. 

Shepard had fallen especially hard for that move the first time Anderson had pulled it. She had come back up with a bloodied nose, having hit herself in the face with her own pommel. 

Kaiden raised himself with a bit more dignity than that, although the crew was already hollering Shepard’s success. She did not press her advantage, but allowed him to rise to his feet. For a moment, Shepard thought he may truly be insulted by her stunt. But he took up a stance again without a word, disheveled but with challenge in his eyes.

“Again?” She asked nonchalantly. Kaidan’s response was swift and aggressive.

The laid back smile was erased from Shepard’s face as she had to concentrate on her own blocks. One, two, three, four blows in rapid succession, pressing her back until her almost collided with the main mast. She blocked each, Kaiden’s blade skirting over hers with a satisfying ring. When she ran out of room Shepard attempted to side step again to reverse their places, but Kaiden was prepared. He stepped in close to block her with his shoulder. Shepard shoved past, however, spinning him around. His hand flew out to keep his balance and Shepard ducked the blade. By the time Alenko regained his footing, he found the tip of Shepard’s sword pointed at his throat. It was a safe distance away, of course, but Shepard was clearly the victor. Her pose betrayed nothing of the tricks which had gotten her there.

“Well played.” Kaidan said at last, a bit out of breath. He accepted defeat with a nod and a laugh, and soon accepted a drink of water when one of the crew offered it. Lieutenant Williams lead the crew in a small cheer for him and for Shepard as he stepped away.

Shepard swung her sword around and gave them all a salute, which was returned with vigor. The sun was getting high in the sky now, and it would soon be time for the midday meal. Before that, though, Shepard had one more goal to achieve.

“Normally that is where our training session would end.” She announced. “But if you would do me the honor…” She paused and sought out Major Vakarian. “We have a guest on board.”

The crew kept silent, hanging upon the anticipation in the air.

“You know your way around a blade, I presume?” Shepard had noticed that he carried one. Slightly more curved than a saber, but of similar length.

Garrus nodded. Shepard’s eyebrow raised at his silent response.

“Might we see how a Major in the Ottoman Army is trained in hand-to-hand?” Garrus had not broken eye contact with her once, but she could not read the look in his eye. Was it challenge? Fear? Timidness? Amusement? Whatever it was, he stepped forward, receiving a few pats on the back on his way.

“Anything in the name of international cooperation, Commander.” Major Vakarian’s tone was solid, but his face at last betrayed him with a small smile. The irony of these two soldiers fighting in the name of peace did not escape the crew. And Shepard could not help but chuckle at the tone in which Garrus so blatantly mocked the superiors who had placed him aboard despite her wishes.

“Feel free to warm up.” She offered, “I would hate to catch you unawares.”

At this Garrus’ eyes shot back to her own. He opened his mouth to object, but caught himself and let her comment pass. Shepard smiled. She had struck a nerve.

The first thing Vakarian did was remove his hat and coat, tossing them to one of the other topmen who had showed him the ropes. Since his second day aboard, Garrus had given up his long and fine Ottoman dress shirt for the dark workman’s coat and tricorn she had first encountered him in. It certainly helped him blend in with her crew. Now without it, though, he looked rather foreign once more; his loose trousers bagging around his tall boots, and his undershirt, dyed a bright blue, with tight wrapped sleeves. His belt was more of a sash, black, with his sword tucked into it, rather than hanging by his side as Shepard’s did. This he drew, and left its scabbard to the side. It was a fine blade.

Shepard followed suit, leaving Lt. Williams with her hat and coat. She knew that their fight would likely come down to shirtsleeves eventually, and had made especially sure of her binding and padding before she set out. She shook out her loose sleeves, now a bit off white from the lack of launder, and adjusted her loose white ascot.

“Are you ready?” Shaking out her already tiring limbs, Shepard re-entered a defensive stance, swinging her sword to limber up. 

“Are you?” It was clear that Garrus would not be making the first strike. Shepard gave him a sporting jab, testing the waters as it were.

Almost at once, the fight changed. Garrus stepped in, just as Shepard had, pressing her blade to the side with his and taking hold of her wrist. He pulled her past him, as she had pulled Alenko, but Shepard did not go down. She kept her balance with quick steps and raised her sword instinctively to block his follow up blow, their blades ringing with the sweeping impact. Around them the crew stood in silence for a moment before erupting with applause.

Oh. So that was how it was going to be. Shepard couldn't help but grin at the man brash enough to face her with her own tricks. But two could play that game.

Shoving him away, Shepard came back to her defensive stance, determined this time that he would strike first. He did, in a wide arc towards her head, a clear invitation to duck. This, in Shepard’s experience, was a terrific way to lose one’s balance and line of sight, and lead one significantly too close to an opponent's hands, knees, and feet, all of which were just as treacherous as the blade swinging overhead. She opted instead for a high block, bracing the back of her sword on her other palm and shoving hard. The force of it sent Garrus reeling as Shepard turned the strength of his blow against him with bone rattling efficiency.

This time Shepard did press her advantage, throwing a sharp diagonal cut. With Garrus’ blade thrown wide he was forced to jump backwards, throwing himself haphazardly out of the way. It was almost comical to see him balance on his long legs with his poofy trousers. Shepard pressed him further, another swing, another long step back. He was finally able to ready his blade for her third strike, but she had him where she wanted now.

Letting their blades cross and lock, blade to blade and guard to guard, Shepard leaned her weight against him. Only now did Garrus notice that the huge pillar of the main mast was directly against his back.

“Well played, Commander. Here we are again.” He raised an eyebrow, taunting her with the last time, when he was the one who had her pinned.

“Oh, don’t give up so easily Major.” Shepard mocked, as if his compliment was victory itself. “I know you can do better than that.”

It was then that Garrus employed his true advantage; height. He raised their locked blades up, up above Shepard’s head, holding her blade and hands captive. Before she could release to engage him, Vakarian snuck his foot behind hers and pushed, sending the Commander tumbling backwards to the deck.

Shepard knew what was happening a moment before it did, but not in time to stop it. She let herself fall and rolled with the landing to avoid the point of his sword which was inevitably following her down. From the ground she kicked, hard, at his knees, knocking him back into the main mast again, and giving her time to regain her footing.

“Come on!” She goaded, backing up to provide him space away from the mast. He followed her, wary, and after a few testing parries took her bait with a long jab. Shepard stepped in again and grabbed his swordhand as before when it passed. This time, though, she did not push him aside, but held tight.

Garrus was caught now, his sword unavailable while she held him, and as she brought hers forward, he took the only defensive route he could. He copied her, catching her arm below the wrist and stopping its downward arc.

One of the sword masters whom Shepard had read while studying for her Lieutenant's exam had said that every real fight will come down to grappling, in the end. This, it seemed, was to be a real fight. Shepard gave a small tug to test his grip, but Garrus used his wider arm span again, this time to draw them close.

For one moment she saw a confident, determined look in his eye as he pulled his face away from hers while still drawing her towards him. In the next moment Shepard’s world flashed to white and to black. She felt her sword fall from her hand, felt herself lose her grip on Garrus’ wrist and tumble back onto the deck. But over and in front of all of this she felt sudden, shooting, shocking pain, bursting and rattling through her head like lightning and thunder all at once.

Shepard opened her eyes and bid them focus, and found herself on the floor. She shook her head to clear it, but it only made the dizzying aftershock worse. She tasted blood. She could tell without looking that it was dripping down her face, staining her white shirt. That smug bastard may have broken her nose. A headbutt. She should have known.

Lieutenants Alenko and Williams were at her side in an instant, one at each elbow, lifting her back up to her feet.

Shepard was having trouble making out words, but there seemed to be some upset at this rough play. Garrus himself was staring at her, mouth open, looking mortified and afraid. His sword had dropped with hers to the deck. The entire crew was still staring as their Commander was righted, bloody-faced and panting.

The moment she was on her feet, Shepard knew how this had to end. If this man wanted a brawl, a brawl is what he would get. Looking back at the decision later, Shepard would feel a tinge of shame over her lack of decorum, especially in front of her men. Fistfights between the crew was expressly forbidden, along with anything else that might render one unfit for duty beside his fellow men. But in that moment, she knew there could only be one response.

“Hah!” She gave one loud, unsettling laugh, and closed the few paces between them.

Perhaps is was the blood in her mouth. Perhaps it was adrenaline. Perhaps it was the score she had left unsettled back in that alleyway in London town. But only one moment after Shepard was on her feet, she was back on the deck again, and this time on top of Garrus. With a shout she rushed forward and hit him, shoulder to thigh, in a low tackle that lifted him for a moment off of his feet and slammed him to the floor. She felt the air forced out of his winded lungs as they hit the deck together and rolled and scrambled to catch him in a pin.

Bewildered as he was, Garrus was quick to counter, shoving himself up to turn the tables again. He was still the stronger and larger of the two, and she felt his hands briefly on her shoulders, leaning over her, but she would not let him win again. Functioning on instinct alone, Shepard turned and kicked her leg out and over him. Using his arm and her entire back for leverage she flipped them again. It was perhaps the least ‘ladylike’ move she had pulled in her very unladylike life, but it was, as Vega had been, inelegant but effective.

After their brief struggle the world finally stopped spinning, and Shepard was on top. She heaved in a breath as he stilled, caught beneath her with both hands pinned. A drop of bright red blood fell from her chin onto his face.

They stared at each other for a moment, testing if this was the end. Shepard then sniffed loudly, trying to keep the blood in her nose where it belonged.

“Hah.” She felt more than heard him laugh at the sight. It was a catalyst that shattered the red rage behind her eyes and reset all instincts. “Hahahaha!” By this he surrendered.

Shepard took a shaky breath, and couldn't help but echo the sound. She fell off of him, allowing herself to slump to the floor and joined him in laughter, finally coming to rest on her back. Besider her Garrus clapped a brief and solitary applause.

“Good show.” He said from the ground, breathless and bruised.

“Mmm.” It was the only response Shepard could manage, sniffing again and pressing her wrist to her nose.

“Help them up!” Williams, Alenko, and Vega were on them a moment later, pulling each up to their feet. Shepard felt pats on the back coming from all sides as her crew finally took their chance to cheer after the tense showdown. The Lieutenants still looked aghast.

“Good show.” Shepard echoed, and clapped a hand onto Garrus’ back. “Thank you, Major.”

Dr. Chakwas was by her side now, pressing a handkerchief into her hand and forcing it to her face.

“Mr. Gardner, how is our dinner coming along?”

“Right you are, sir!” Gardner, who already had his hand on the bell but must have been stopped in shock by the scene which had greeted him on deck, rang it loudly and gave the crew another reason to cheer.

“I think I will, uh, take my meal in Dr. Chakwas’ quarters, if you will, cook.”

“Aye, sir.” Gardner gave a quick salute.

“Thank you again, Major,” She added, “For joining in our sport. My compliments to whoever trained you, and to yourself.”

“My father would thank you, I am sure, sir, as do I. My compliments to Admiral Anderson and yourself as well.”

Ah, so his father was military as well. Shepard added this to the startlingly short mental list of the things she knew about Vakarian. It was especially disarming when compared to how much he seemed to know about her. She would have to make time to rectify this imbalance. But for the next few weeks there was little they had more of than time.

\-------------------------

“Well, it’s not broken. So at least there’s that.” Dr. Chakwas finished wiping the last of the blood from Commander Shepard’s face, tilting the younger woman’s head around to various angles to make sure. Shepard sat patiently and allowed this manipulation, feeling a bit like a scolded child. Sitting on the edge of Chakwas’ table with her legs dangling off did not help this impression.

Chakwas sighed and stepped back. “It may be a bit swollen and tender for a few days, but nothing too hideous.” She wiped her hands on another handkerchief. “I must say, Commander, I…” She stopped. “Permission to speak freely,  _ sir?” _

Shepard’s brow knit. “Of course.” Things were bad indeed if Chakwas felt the need to ask, much less to call her sir. “Please.” She corrected.

“That was a very reckless undertaking, Commander.” Chakwas’ tone was level; factual and dispassionate. It almost made it worse.

Now Shepard really did feel like a scolded child. She gave a small nod to try and buy herself some time to come up with a response. In her silence Chakwas continued.

“It is not my place to question how you train your men, and you know I have overseen such fencing practice before. But wrestling on the floor is…”

“I know.” Shepard interrupted. “It is beneath my station, and a bad example for the men.” She took a deep breath and let it out, wincing a bit. “I should apologize to the Major. I’m sure I have embarrassed him.”

Chakwas nodded but made no comment to this. “I was going to say that wrestling is a good way to get yourself found out, Commander.”

“Ah.” Now Shepard was scolding herself, her hand instinctively checking the binding on her chest. Over the past twelve years she had become so comfortable in her skin, things like this had started to slip her mind. “Well, I’m sure that…” She wasn’t sure of anything. “The Major didn’t…” she stopped again, and Chakwas’ hand found her own.

“You are safe here, Commander. And I will do everything within my power to keep you that way.” Chakwas’ voice held absolute and earnest conviction of this fact. “I believe that your secret, like my own, is safe as well. The Major seems to have full confidence in you, at least. I just… I recommend caution, Commander. As I always do.” Chakwas gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“You’re right, doctor. As always.” Shepard smiled and stood. “I suppose it would, uh... “ She scratched the back of her neck. “It would surprise you to hear that this is not the first time the Major and I have been brought to blows.”

Chakwas’ response was stoic. One skeptical brow arched, prompting Shepard to explain. It did not take long for Shepard to give an account of the night, and her encounter with the Ottoman. It felt good, to tell someone; like a burden lifted from her chest. As it always did, sharing with Doctor Chakwas.

In the end, the doctor merely shook her head. “You do find trouble, Commander.”

“Trouble finds me.” Shepard corrected. It was far from the first time the pair had shared this exchange. Chakwas raised an eyebrow again. “Alright.” Shepard aquiested. “I find trouble.” She shook her head, wondering how she always managed to lose this fight. “I’ll... try not to assault Major Vakarian again in future.”

“Thank you, Shepard. I have a feeling if it happens again, I will end up repairing Major Vakarian as well.”

Shepard laughed at Chakwas’ confidence in her. “Well we wouldn’t want the Consulate to hear about that.” She busied herself with getting redressed in her coat and new, blood-free white shirt. About the time she had finished fixing her collar there was a small knock on the door.

“That will be Gardner.” Chakwas moved to answer. At this point they could have returned to the Officer’s mess, but it was always good to have a moment to talk alone.

“Major Vakarian.” Chakwas’ surprised voice at the door snapped Shepard to attention. “What can I do for you?”

Shepard heard Garrus’ deep voice from the other side of the portal. “I, uh, hoped to speak with the Commander.” His tone was hesitant, the exact opposite of his behavior in the ring.

“Yes, he is-” The doctor glanced to make sure that she was dressed and willing to talk. Shepard gave a nod, doing up the last button on her coat and rebinding her hair.

“Major?” She joined Chakwas at the door.

Garrus’ eyes were immediately drawn to her nose. It was still somewhat swollen, and was starting to discolor, but clean now of blood. “I wanted to apologize, sir.” Vakarian cleared his throat. “For any injury I have caused, and for knocking you down in front of your men.” The Major was holding his hat in his hands. “It was out of line and-”

“And it was exactly what I would have expected from any soldier in your position.” Shepard supplied. “It was a good hit and a fair hit, given the pace I myself began.” She couldn't resist putting gentle pressure on her face. Why did talking about injuries make them itch? “There is no need for you to apologize, Major. In fact if anything, I ought to apologize to you. My reaction was…” she searched for the proper word. “Indecorous, at best.” And a public insult at worst, she added mentally. Duels had been fought over less.

“There was no injury but to my pride, sir, which, if I am unable to defend it myself, I must say the insult was deserved.” The Major stood a bit taller, almost knocking his head on the ceiling of the hall. “My old Captain once told me that there is no such thing as a fair fight; for anything fair was not a fight. You honor me by not holding back, as you did with your Lieutenant.”

“It was that obvious, was it?” Shepard could not stop herself from asking.

Garrus gave a small laugh. “I’m sure he impressed the men.”

Shepard nodded, and put on her most diplomatic tone. “Well, be it honor or insult, I hope that you and I do not come to blows again. International cooperation aside, my duty is the best interest of the  _ Normandy _ , and it is in her best interests that you and I become better allies than enemies, and be seen as such by the men. I hope I have not slighted you in their eyes.”

“Not at all, Commander. The opposite in fact. And I agree, it is my desire that we should be better friends.”

Shepard smiled, and offered her hand. It took Garrus a moment, putting his hat back on his head, but he shook her hand again to reaffirm that all hard feelings had been laid to rest.

“Thank you again for welcoming me aboard your ship on such notice, Commander. Having now spent a few weeks aboard, and having seen you fight, I must say it is an honor to be among your crew.”

“Thank you, Major.” Shepard found herself at a brief loss for words. She opted for self-deprecation. It was a trait she often wondered if she inherited more from Doctor Chakwas than from her own parents. “Hopefully you still feel that way when this mission is done. I’m afraid it will be far from exciting, at this rate. And it will be a sad sight indeed if we never spot the island we’ve come all this way to chart.”

“We will find it, Commander. I am sure.” Garrus really believed that, didn’t he?

Well, at least one of them did.


	10. No Such Luck

Shepard started awake again, sweat beading from her brow, and shivered. She took a moment to reorient, breathing in and out heavily as her eyes darted around the darkened room, searching for she knew not what and praying she did not find it. The faintest trace of moonlight trickling in through the aft windows outlined her nearby desk in a dull glow; its various clutter casting long, shifting shadows which united into the utter black which occupied most of the cabin. But it was enough to confirm to her sleep-addled brain that she was, indeed, still aboard the  _ Normandy _ . She fell back into the stiff bed with a sigh. There wasn’t much chance of more sleep tonight. Not that there ever was. Not for months now.

She shifted her weight back up and her body’s muscle memory took over, automatically swinging her legs over the side and lifting her out of bed, her hands lighting the lamp she kept at her bedside without thought, and slipping on her boots and coat by instinct. Shepard covered a yawn as she strapped on her belt, and came back into reality as the cool air of the night met her face when she found herself walking through her cabin door.

The world was never truly quiet when one was at sea. But tonight was about as close as it got. Gentle waves rocked the ship up and down, and a slight but steady breeze held the canvas taught. As good a night as could be wished here in the Sargasso Sea.

“Anything?” Shepard broke the silence as her quick steps brought her up to the quarterdeck, glancing around for any sign of a break in the placid seas.

“Nothing to report, Commander.” Able Seaman Moreau responded. A silence hung between them for a while. In the small breaks in the otherwise blanketed clouds, a few stars shone.

“Dreams again?” Moreau broke the silence at length, before stumbling over an “If you don’t mind me asking, sir-”

“At ease.” Shepard deterred his formality. “It’s far too late and you’ve known me far too long for that kind of talk, Joker.” She smiled as warmly as she could, despite the terror which had woken her. “And yes. The same as every night.” she reported with a small sigh. “I had hoped that their frequency might mean we were close to our goal but…”

“No such luck?” Joker added sympathetically.

“No such luck.” Shepard parroted.

A comfortable silence returned. The night watch on these calm seas was minimal, and Shepard had become more and more acquainted with it these past several weeks. She had also noticed Moreau requesting night time shifts more and more often. As their best helmsman she normally entrusted him with the more active duties, but on weeks like this she could see why he preferred the quiet monotony of the night over the bright monotony of the day.

She waited for him to speak, hoping that formality would not hold him back. Of all the crew on the _ Normandy _ , Shepard had known Jeff the longest. Longer even than Chakwas. They had been stationed together on the  _ HMS Cavendish _ , before Shepard’s transfer to the  _ Langford  _ when she passed her Lieutenant's exam. Meeting Joker again aboard Anderson’s  _ Hastings  _ had been a small miracle indeed.

“Sooo….” The man’s playful North American accent always made her smile. “If you don’t mind…” he drew out. Shepard rolled her eyes.

“What, Joker? Spit it out.”

“What are they like?” He quieted almost before he had finished asking.

Oh. That was not what she expected.

“The, uh, the dreams?” she clarified. Joker nodded. “It’s hard to say.” She stalled. “Chaotic. Insistent. And Dark. There is almost always a…. Chant. I can’t make out the words. There is… Blood.” she added, and meant to stop, but words kept coming on. “It’s like drowning, or like I should be drowning. Being filled with… Water - or worse than water - replacing air, replacing everything. I see faces, beings that can’t exist, hear words I feel were never meant to be heard. I… truthfully I feel I ought to have gone insane by now. But there’s something…” She trailed off and shook her head.

“What?” Joker asked, almost reverently.

“I know I mention it quite enough but… Atlantis.” She blushed a little bit in the dark, still feeling a bit silly calling it that despite its truth. Joker showed no sign of scoffing, so she continued. “Something in it, something about it. I know it likely caused these horrid dreams, but I can’t help but feel like it is somehow protecting me from them too. Saving me from the worst of it. Perhaps it is a mercy that I cannot understand the words. Perhaps… It doesn’t want to be found.”

Joker did not respond, and a length silence extended between them and the sea again.

“It’s still two hours until dawn.” Shepard said at last. “If you’d like to hit your bunk early, I will be your relief.”

Joker hesitated. It was an unusual request, a senior officer offering to do the job of a seaman. But he could tell she needed to be alone with her thoughts, and he knew from experience that a night like tonight would be the best time for it. “Aye aye, Commander.” 

They performed the hand off of the helm, letting their called headings be soft in the equally soft wind. Joker hobbled slowly down the stairs, and even more slowly down the hatch, all in the sacred silence of the night. And then Shepard was, at least relatively, alone. It was not a condition which she typically sought after such an outburst of terror as had woken her, but one to which she had been forced to acclimate after many sleepless nights, and in which she was slowly learning to find comfort.

As she took the ship’s wheel in her hands, something inside Shepard fancied that maybe through this more direct control of their heading, she might by some subconscious magic summon the mysterious island which has started this whole mad quest; guide the ship right like a divining rod. She knew it could never happen. She was never as lucky as that. But, as she kept on learning, stranger things happened at sea. For tonight she would be content with the quiet waves and the quieter breeze. She would need to sleep eventually, but for now her dreams could wait.

\----------------------

The ten days had passed. They had stretched, in fact, to fourteen. As they edged nearer to the end of their search pattern, Shepard had taken again to her books. To reclusion. The officers pretended not to notice, but she knew they did.

Nothing. They had nothing. Not a sight or sound or suggestion of anything besides the high expansive sky and the deep, hidden sea. No rocks, no shallow, no crest of white. No mountain, no island, no temple. No storm, thank God, but no Atlantis either. Shepard poured over her notes and Traynor’s charts day and night now. There had to be something.

A short knock came at her door.

“Enter.” Shepard did not look up from her work, flipping idly through her scribbles and sketches for what must have been the millionth time, her head rested on her hand over the desk.

“Sir?”

Shepard finally blinked herself more awake and looked up. It had gotten dark.

“Yes, Williams, what can I do for you?” She still had not shut her book, but glanced around for some candles, which she would soon need.

“The mess bell sounded some time ago, Sir. The cook was wondering if he should expect you at table tonight.”

At this Shepard finally sat up, taking a deep breath she hadn’t even noticed she was lacking. It was not the first time she had accidentally missed her evening meal. It was the first time her men had grown concerned enough to send for her.

She stood at once, straightening her shirt and jacket, and ran a hand through her hair.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I shall join you shortly.” Shepard noted that she was, in fact, quite hungry, and should welcome the summons, but with so much riding on their search, it felt wrong to leave her studies, the one thing she could still do. Just as it felt wrong to tear her eyes from the horizon every time she made it out on deck.

Ashely did not take her assurance as a dismissal, but lingered in her cabin.

“Commander…” Her eyes drifted over Shepard’s notes and charts.

“Hmm?” Shepard was looking into a small mirror by her bed and fixing her hair, which she had mussed significantly running her hands through it while she read. Luckily, Ash was one of the few people on board with whom she did not have to worry about keeping up appearances.

“I’ve just finished the evening shift, sir.” She snapped back to attention. “Nothing to report.”

‘Nothing to report’ was, in itself, a report. Shepard sighed. “At ease,” she instructed. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I can’t say I’m surprised.” Shepard fixed her collar and the two officers made their way out the door and towards the officer’s mess.

Ashley’s unvoiced question - and that of the entire crew - hung heavy on Shepard: The question ‘what now?’ plagued her ever more the further west they got. It would be easy to say that she had missed dinner these last two days out of concentrated distraction. But Shepard was willing to admit that a large helping of her want to avoid facing her men did not help.

They stood when she entered. It became clear now that they had, as a whole, decided to wait for her, and sent Ashley as their delegate. It did Shepard’s heart good to see their high regard for her. But it only made the gnaw in her gut worse. Every day she delayed was a waste of their time as much as hers. She had dragged them all the way back here, and for what? But it was not like there was much else they could do.

Shepard knew in that moment that she must confront this, must put the thoughts in the back of everyone’s heads in the open for them to see and discuss. And so before she even sat down she forced the words out of her mouth, uttering them before the nerve abandon her once more.

“Gentleman, we have but two options before us,” she addressed the room, her voice sombre as the night. Her officers gave her their full attention. “We may press on towards Bermuda, to resupply and continue on our intended course for Dr. T’Soni. Or way may abandon this whole mission here: Take our defeat with what grace we can and sail for England and reassignment.”

Silence held for a while. Shepard continued. All her waking hours had been consumed with this decision for the past four days.

“We have supplies to make the crossing without cut rations, but not to stay idle here for much longer. I will confess, after much consideration I am still not convinced of which course would be right, and welcome your council, one and all.”

The officers took a moment to look around at each other, wondering who should be the first to speak. At last Shepard sighed, remembering her purpose in joining them, and rescued them from silence.

“Thank you for your patience,” she said, finally taking her seat. “I do not mean to delay your meal any further. Please,” she gestured for them to join her, and to eat at last.

It was with a great deal of stilted, awkward silence that the officers took their seats. Shepard could not help but feel that she had squashed whatever revelry they might have anticipated by making sure she joined them at table. She was dimly aware that if she had been less distracted by the thoughts and worries crowding her head, she might have regretted her tone. But there was nothing for it now.

“Well.” It was Major Vakarian’s accented voice that dared break the silence first. He was not known to share much in their discussion at table, but now spoke with the practiced ease of her oldest hands. “I for one think a change of pace couldn’t hurt.” All eyes were on the Major, but he gave the suggestion casually, while he laid his napkin on his lap. “We will come back with fresh eyes, and see this area anew. And perhaps Dr. T’Soni will be able to help narrow down or expand our field of search. I’m sure her insight would be of aid to us.” Garrus noted that everyone else was still staring and added, in the face of their uneasiness. “We will find your island, Commander. And I have never known you English to give up so soon.”

There was just enough challenge and just enough faith in the Major’s voice that his words seemed to break the spell which Shepard’s dour mood had cast over the room. A few of the other officers voiced their agreement, that Bermuda sounded like a fine goal. Dr. Chakwas, the eldest officer aboard, joked that they all just wanted to see the tropics again, regardless of their mission, which brought back the revelry of the room.

Shepard took all of this in in relative silence. She could not help but wonder at the Major’s words for a moment. He really did believe that they would find this island, and in Dr. T’Soni too. He hadn’t even met the young doctor yet. None of them had. But it was not a feigned confidence he presented. She was unsure that the Major was capable of lying. Why the Ottomans ever thought he would make a halfway decent spy was beyond her. He was quiet enough, and could muster bravado when needed, but traded in honesty alone.

“I suppose it’s settled.” Commander Shepard found herself muttering, astonished how easy the decision felt after battling it for days all on her own. “Mr. Traynor, set a course for Bermuda tomorrow morning, and we will be underway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I thought this story would be ~ 30 chapters. But I've actually just finished writing chapter 20 and we aren't halfway through Act II yet, so buckle up for a longer ride, folks. I'll be posting the next 10 chapters hopefully on a tighter schedule than these first 10. Thank you everyone for your comments!


	11. Inland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: some gore

“Man was not meant to go traipsing through jungles.”  _ Nor woman, neither _ . It was becoming Commander Shepard’s ever more strongly held belief. She batted again at the gnats and mosquitoes buzzing too near her damp face. Blast this jungle.

Shepard’s talk of Atlantis not wanting to be found was coming back to haunt her. If any place on God’s good green earth did not want to be found, it must be whatever lay this deep within such an inhospitable forest.

It was quite a remarkable feat, she was oft reminded, how mankind had united together to tame the wild waves of the sea. Struggling here through the roots and mud, Shepard could not fathom how much more it would take to tame this horrible, beautiful, alien land. Or why anyone would want to.

“Paulo says we are almost there, Commander.” Midshipman Vega reported, translating for their guide. Paulo was a short man of dark and weather worn complexion whose hair was just starting to grey. He spoke eloquently, or so it seemed, for Shepard could not understand most of the words he said. Luckily, her senior Midshipman did.

The plan had seemed so simple when they were in England: Cross the Atlantic, sail to Bermuda, find Dr. T’Soni - probably in some library or staying at the Governor’s house - convince her to accompany them, and be off, with the hold full of fresh supplies and the crew refreshed from a few days shore leave in the tropics. Only it turned out that Liara T’Soni was no longer in Bermuda. She had taken, by what account Shepard could find, passage aboard a merchant ship bound first for Jamaica and thence for the small British settlement of Belize. There the archeologist’s aim was to hire her own private guide and cross into the Yucatán. And so once their resupply was done, Shepard was forced to do the same.

It was by no means a safe journey, by sea or by land. Shepard never rested easy in the chaotic and oft times barbaric waters of the Caribbean, and had steered them on a wide course to avoid the worst of the pirate infested and largely Spanish controlled sea. It had not worked, of course. But by God’s grace they had made it to Belize intact, and now quite possibly by his curse she and a number of her officers were traipsing through the most formidable part of a rainforest; following in Dr. T’Soni’s intrepid tracks. Leaving the  _ HMS Normandy  _ in the capable hands of First Lieutenant Alenko, Shepard had chosen Lieutenant Williams, Major Vakarian, and Midshipman Vega to accompany her expedition into the unknown.

And now here they were. In the middle of the Yucatan. Following a ‘path’ which Shepard herself could not detect. Trees towered above them and ferns and brush pressed in close. The air itself was close and warm here, and filled with noise - so much noise! Wild sounds of bird and beast, insect, and she-knew-not-what. Shepard could swear that the trees themselves spoke here, in a language of their own.

Light filtered down through an emerald canopy, as vaulted as a cathedral, but the forest floor was as dim as a cloudy evening; sifting shadows amongst the millions of leaves. Amid the chaos of green and brown flashed bright color here and there, as if to let the adventurers know that they were not alone: That this was not their forest, and was many creatures’ home. Exotic wildlife surrounded them on all sides, above, and below. Wonderful birds the likes of which the crew had never seen, brightly colored lizards and frogs, full families of wide eyed monkeys, and tiny mammals which Paulo pointed out with names Shepard could not pronounce. Even the fish of this place seemed to be from another world.

It had been nearly two days since they had last seen the  _ HMS Normandy; _ two sweltering days and one bothersome night spent hiking through this towering, miasmatic forest. And now - according to Paulo - they were nearing their goal.

The more the crew discovered by word and by experience of Dr. T’Soni’s adventure, the more questions were raised as to how they got to this point. And though the question was not asked aloud, the most present was what kind of young woman traipses off, alone save for a guide and a few hired men, into a quite literally uncharted jungle? Was she unaware of the danger surrounding her? Both from the jungle and quite possibly from the company escorting her there? Had she no friend or ally who might accompany her? These questions and more chased each other through Commander Shepard’s head. But she had read Dr. T’Soni’s manuscript. And if it was any guide to Liara’s aim, perhaps the doctor’s seclusion was a good indication that she had found something real.

The trees were beginning to thin - or perhaps that was Shepard’s imagination getting the better of her. She could hear their guide offering reassurances. Vega translated what he could as the man pointed out the first signs of their goal: As he lead them clambering up a vine-cloaked slope, it became evident that not all of the stones had come there by nature.

It was easy to miss the low, grey stones covered in moss and stacked one on another which formed a crumbling but still recognizable wall. Or the base of a wall, anyway. Shepard couldn’t help but stop and run a hand over the ancient stones. The familiar, interlocked pattern of the slabs reminded her of nothing so much as the wall she had found on the Island. Perhaps she would never be able to look at a simple stone wall the same way again. Paulo pressed them on, assuring her that there would be much more to see soon. 

He was not mistaken. Soon the traces of civilization became undeniable as he lead them past walls and cairns, stacked stones and even vine covered carvings, practically defaced by time. One in particular Paulo stopped in front of and told them it was a carving of a jaguar, ‘the ruler of the forest’. Another was apparently a carving of a king, or perhaps a pagan god - or perhaps they were one and the same. As Midshipman Vega translated, Major Vakarian took notes, and seemed to be adding quick sketches to his papers too. Shepard gave a small inward smile. There was at least one thing the Major held in common with his predecessor, General Arterius: An eye for detail.

She came up beside the Major and took a rather obvious look at his notes, and to his credit, Garrus did not shy away, but kept writing. Though all of the words were in Turkish, his hand was as neat and orderly, and the small drawing had captured the salient details of the carving in question rather well.

“You’re quite the artist, Major.” It was a statement of fact.

“Thank you, sir.” He flipped the journal closed.

“A skill you acquired at the military academy?” She raised an eyebrow and teased.

“You might be surprised.” Garrus was always trying to use his mysterious air as a foreigner to test what the crew would believe, but his poker face failed him this time. “A gift from my mother, I must confess,” he shook his head. “But one which has been surprisingly useful in the field.”

“Reconnaissance missions, hmm?” Shepard suppressed a laugh at the slight hesitation before Garrus confirmed. “Well, keep up the good work, Major. I am sure when we find Dr. T’Soni she would love to see these. And,” she had to look up to catch his eye. “I’m sure your mother would be proud.”

“Yes, sir.” Garrus gave a nod. “Thank you, sir.”

“In a place like this, I’m sure you’ll never run out of material to draw.”

\-----------------------------------------------

The sun was making a lazy decent when they finally arrived. Shepard did not need Paulo to make her aware of the fact. Her jaw quite literally dropped as they rounded the last bend and now golden canopy made way to purple clouded sky. Above her, high as a mountain, climbed steep, countless steps. She could not keep her eyes from following them up, higher and higher as they climbed to the top of the giant pyramid before her. Verdant moss clung to its every surface, but the old grey stone could not be disguised as anything but a human construction. It was no wonder Dr. T’Soni had sought out this place. It was breathtaking.

“What is this place?” She asked Paulo, breathless. Vega translated.

“It is called  _ Yax Mutal _ , he says, the first city of an ancient nation. Their capital, I guess.”

“Thank you, Mr. Vega.” A city in the midst of this wild land seemed impossible, but Shepard was no longer in a position to judge the possible from impossible of the world.

She fought to tear her eyes from the stunning structure as Paulo motioned for them to follow him around it. Their guide chuckled a little at Shepard’s reluctance to draw away, but the four officers shared their stunned silence, broken only by hushed expressions of awe.

Already at a loss for words at the sight of the ancient pyramid, Shepard had no recourse for what she saw next. As they rounded the great structure, the city itself came into view. Not one but four great grey stone pyramids stood in this long clearing, with various other stone structures dotted between. The graveyard of an entire civilization stood at their feet, as it had for time unreckoned. Paulo gave them a moment to take in the view.

Shepard allowed herself a long moment of gasping wonder at the sight. What kind of people could have built this, and built it here? And where had they gone? Shepard had seen Atlantis itself and still this place seemed a fantasy, conjured from a dream far beyond her imagining.

Mr. Vega broke their silence with a long, low whistle. “Don’t see that every day.”

“You do bring us to the most interesting places, Commander.” Ashley managed to add, the distraction in her voice stealing any sense of sarcasm.

Major Vakarian kept his peace, but scribbled furiously at his notes.

Paulo again had to goad them into keeping up.

“It’s no wonder Dr. T’Soni made her way here…” Shepard ventured as they made their way down into the valley of the ancient city. The pyramids and structures somehow seemed even less real as they approached.

Paulo added something which Vega translated, indicating that the young scholars’ camp should be just around the corner.

Shepard walked between structures staring up in abandon. The two day trip had certainly been worth it for this.

“Commander.” Lieutenant Williams’ tone brought her thoughts to an abrupt halt. She had stopped short and held out an arm which Shepard nearly ran into, and the group fell to an immediate stilled silence. Ashley pointed wordlessly down the path.

There, spreading a dark stain against the verdant floor, was the body of a man. Or what was left of one. Noisome birds of various description clustered around the spot.

“Search the area.” Shepard ordered solemnly and drew her sword. “And be on your guard.”

Her officers spread out, Paulo tagging along with Midshipman Vega, and Shepard approached the corpse. The feathered scavengers squawked and scattered before her and she held her breath against the smell as she neared.

Whether the gaping hole where the man’s chest should be came about before or after he died was impossible to determine. As was his identity, as the corpse was unspeakably defaced. This looked like the work of a predator, savage and hungry. A machete had been in the man’s hand. Fallen now on the stony floor, the edge of its blade was sticky with dried blood. Shepard said a quick prayer and left the mess where she found it.

“More bodies, Commander.” Major Vakarian was the first to report. He gestured towards a scattered line of the same. Once-human figures sprawled in the dirt, the food of carrion and worms.

Shepard’s heart sank at the sight, and did not seem to stop at her stomach or at the floor. Dead. They were all dead.

“There camp is here, Commander.” Vega called them over. A few tents along with a burnt out fire pit and several crates of supplies; food and drink, shovels and lanterns, and a few more machetes. One tent was larger than the others, and Shepard let herself and Williams in.

Silence hung heavily under the canvas, but the smell of death did not follow them here. The space was dominated by a table upon which various books were stacked; orderly and heavily bookmarked. A few stones lay on the table, notable for their carvings, along with two gas lanterns. One half of the table was taken up by a large apparently hand-drawn map of the area, cordoned off in a nice grid. It was far from detailed, but must have been Liara’s primary work since her arrival, as it was covered in notes. In one corner of the room was a cot and a large trunk bearing Dr. T’Soni’s initials, still locked. 

For the third time that day, Shepard was lost for words. As the hanging silence settled heavily on her shoulders, the dread eating at her heart began to crystalize into rational thoughts. Dr. T’Soni was dead. They had come all this way, and only just arrived, but already they had failed.

“...F-Find the Doctor… Her… her body.” She dragged the words forcibly from her fumbling teeth and leaned heavily on the desk before her. “Count the dead. We will bury them where they lie.” Ashley nodded wordlessly and left to carry the order out.

“Damn.” Shepard could feel herself shaking now. Her mind flew a thousand miles a minute try to and stave off the truth. But every hope her thoughts landed crumbled under the weight of silence. The gory remains that had signaled their arrival haunted her already. They would not even be able to identify a female body in this mess. She shook her head to dislodge the thought and pressed back out into daylight.

Around her, her crew of four worked valiantly to fulfil their grim task. Shepard walked forward as though through a fog until she stood before one of the giant grey monuments, staring up at it like some accursed god. It bore no resemblance to the vaulted Minoan architecture she had seen on the island, but in her mind she cursed them as one and the same for bringing her on this wretched mission, and for luring Dr. T’Soni to her grave.


	12. The Fate of Dr. Liara T'Soni

Sometimes the most important moments in our lives are also the quietest; so quiet you may not even notice that they are there, or realise what has taken place. So quiet that you have no way of knowing that your life will henceforth be forever changed. Lives can be shaped, begun, and ended in the loudest of moments, and in the blink of an eye; moments of tension and passion, of terrible effort and manic energy; the blast of a gunshot, the shout of a warcry, a frantic chase and a daring escape, a nerve shaking proposal, and a frenzied, exuberant acceptance. Each of these shape lives every day. But more often than not, it is the rest of life’s moments which truly mean the most. It is the silent moment of centeredness that breeds quiet confidence, the moment of peace which brings insight, the moment of stillness which instills faith and determination. It only takes a moment to listen for the truth, and let the hearing of it shape your world. Moments such as these are precious, and almost only recognizable once they are gone.

This was one of those moments. As Commander Shepard stood casting an accusing glare at the towering ruins, her spirit trodden down into the dirt, a quiet moment overtook her, of the kind which would shape the rest of her life.

It took a long while before she heard anything beyond her own inner prayers and cries and curses. It’s possible that the sound had to be repeated, iterated many times before it took hold. But in this quiet moment, a small voice met Commander Shepard’s ear. 

“Hello?”

Shepard turned, but no one was there. She glanced around and responded quietly. “...Hello?” She asked the air, breaking the silent moment but listening even more intently than before.

“Is someone there?” There it was again! That had to be a real voice, and a woman’s, too. Hope stirred its weak but everlasting flame in Commander Shepard’s heart. 

“Doctor T’Soni?” She called, as if in a dream.

This caught the attention of the others. “Commander?” Midshipman Vega called. Shepard’s hand went up at once to silence him as she listened for the unknown voice’s response.

“Can you hear me up there?”

Shepards’ eyes caught with Vega’s as he approached, and she dared to whisper “Surely you heard that too?” Vega nodded, and Shepard returned to her search; eyes glued to the forest floor, darting over every fern and shadow. 

“Dr. T’Soni, can you hear us?” She called again, speaking as it were to the moss and the trees. But she was rewarded with a response.

“If you can hear me, then… I need help!” The voice called, weak and confused.

“Who’s there?” Vega called back, joining her search. The rest of the crew was beginning to gather round.

“Spread out.” Shepard told them, at a loss for what else they could do.

It took several long minutes calling after and trying to detect the small voice from underground. And in the end the only way they found it was going up. Frustrated, and afraid to lose this moment of hope, Shepard clambered up onto the ancient stacked stone. There, up the first large step toward the massive myramid, she found a man made plateau, dividing the upper land from that below. “Dr. T’Soni, if you can hear me-” she called again.

“Hello! I’m down here!” The voice was louder now. Shepard walked quickly, searching out any sign from this new stony ground.

“Woah!” Shepard’s arms flung out wide to keep her balance.

“Be careful!” a few loose stones fell away from her feet.

Below her a deep hole opened in the rock, black as pitch, which echoed with the young woman’s voice. Whether the pit was sunk by nature or intention could not be seen, but it was as deep as a well, and about as narrow.

“Thank goodness!” She heard from within the pit. Or perhaps it had been ‘thank the goddess’. It was hard to tell. The woman’s voice was weak, perhaps from shouting. “I fell down here and… and I need help.”

This much was obvious. Shepard knelt beside the lip of the well and peered into the dark, trying to catch sight of the woman trapped down below, but no more than faint shapes could be made out in the dark. “Don’t worry, ma’am,” Shepard attempted to reassure her. “We’ll get you out.” She waved her crew over again.

“I… Thank you.” The woman sounded like she might faint.

“How long have you been down there?” Shepard asked her, getting the sense that she ought to keep her talking. “Are you injured?” she turned to Lt. Williams and ordered whatever rope could be found at the campsite to be brought at once.

“Yes, I… I believe my leg is broken. It’s been… three nights?” She seemed unsure.

“Gather our rations, Mr. Vega, get me food and water.” Vega and Paulo had been carrying most of their supplies.

Shepard glanced around. There was no convenient point to anchor a rope here, but she trusted her men to hold her up. “Sit tight, doctor, help is on it’s way,” she called. 

“Commander perhaps I could-” Major Vakarian began.

“I’m going down there.” Shepard cut him off, already removing her hat and jacket for the task. Now that moment of quiet had been resolved, it was time for action, swift and decisive. There was no time to waste. From the sound of her voice, Dr. T’Soni’s life was in the balance of moments.

“Here you are, Commander.” Ashley passed her a coil of rope. It was not ideal, meant more for packing up supplies than spelunking, but it would have to do. She worked to tie it around her waist as quick as she could in a simple harness. “I need food, water, bandages, and a splint.” She instructed, glancing back down to where she knew T’Soni was, although she could not see into the gloom. “And a lantern, or two.” The sun would be setting soon. They could not delay.

“A splint?” Garrus thought a moment. “There were some crates back at-”

“That will do.”

The Major rushed off and was soon back with two liberated planks of wood. “Commander, would it not be wise to set up a more secure-” he looked worriedly at the rope, unanchored and unstayed.

“I need to get down there  _ now _ .” 

“Very well, Commander.”

“Here’s a lantern, and the tinderbox too. It’s dark down there, sir.” Vega was loading her up with supplies.

With her bag thus packed and a makeshift harness tied about her waist Shepard was ready to make her descent.

“Alright, doctor, I’m coming down now.” She announced to the dark, and nodded to her men. The three officers lined up to anchor her rope, and Paulo helped ease her down into the cave.

It was an awkward, strenuous affair, significantly slower than Shepard would like; the angle of leverage was far from what might be wished, but they had no beam or tackle to aid them. She repelled slowly, walking backwards down a steep and jagged wall. She did her best to look below, willing her eyes to adjust to the dark, and offered more reassurance to the shadows.

“Commander, I-” Lieutenant William’s choked voice came as she was some fifteen feet down. The rope holding her gave a short jerk.

“Hold on men!” She cried. Theirs could not have been an easy job. “Not much further I think-”

“No, Commander, the rope, it’s-” Ashley did not have time to finish her warning.

For one terrible moment, Shepard felt utter weightlessness catch her up in its sickening grasp, fear like vertigo rushing upon her as she fell into the dark. A moment later an even worse sensation followed as she landed with a bone rattling crash at the bottom.

“Commander!” She could hear her men call in unison. The severed rope snaked down after her, falling in a mess about her knees.

Shepard lay on her back, groaning in pain. That was one way to get down a well. It was an uncomfortable, stony landing, but it had not been a long fall. What was more, her eyes were finally adjusting to the low light, and as she looked up from the ground she could at last see - upside down from her perspective - the outline of frightened face.

“Dr. T’Soni, I presume.”


	13. Silent Night

“Commander James Shepard, His Britanic Majesty’s Navy, at your service.”

Commander Jane Shepard was still lying where she fell, looking up at the form of Dr. Liara T’Soni huddled in the corner. She found herself, as her eyes continued to adjust, to be laying on the floor of a cave, or some sort of tunnel, a basin of a sort below the entrance shaft above, but far larger than an ordinary well. She could see little enough of it, but what mattered was the doctor, and her health.

“Are you alright, Commander Shepard?” The woman’s voice was small, dry, tired, and toned by shock, but she was lucid enough to learn the Commander’s name. 

Shepard still had not moved from her place the ground, looking up at an upside down view of the archeologist. “I expect so,” she said in short. Her tailbone was bruised but she did not suspect much else.

“Commander, are you alright?!” Came a shout from above. Squinting towards the circle of light she could see the silhouette of her men contrasting against the bright sky.

“I am unharmed, Lieutenant!” Shepard made to stand up, if only to prove that she could. “But I don’t think I will be able to climb back up.” She laid a hand on the smooth rock. “Let me see to the doctor. You men look around for any more rope.”

“Aye, sir!”

“My apologies, doctor.” Once Shepard had regained her feet she stretched and turned to the woman in question, picking up her lantern where it had fallen and stepping out of the makeshift rope harness she had made.

“It’s… alright.” Dr. T’Soni sounded as if speaking through a dream. She still had not moved since Shepard first saw her, and the Commander wondered how bad her injuries really were. She sat in messy heap in the corner of this odd space. Her eyes were wide in the dim light, and her face was smeared with grime; either dirt or dried blood, it was impossible to say. There was more of it, it seemed, the closer the lantern got.

Shepard was no medical professional, but the look in T’Soni’s eyes was distant at best.

“Can you hold this?” Shepard asked, more to establish Liara’s motor function than for actual need of assistance.

“I… yes.” Shepard waited to make sure Liara could actually support the lantern’s weight before opening her pack. She rifled about until she found the double water ration she had brought along, along with a bit of biscuit.

“Drink this.” Shepard ordered, and took the lantern back. “And eat.”

Liara gasped at the sight of the canteen and held it reverently, but followed Shepard’s order as fast as she could, intent on draining it in one long draught.

Shepard watched and looked around. She could not imagine what it would be like to have been trapped here, with no food or water, and so little light, for three days. And with a broken leg no less. She settled herself on the floor in front of Dr. T’Soni, wincing at the new bruise on her tail bone.

“Thank you, sir.” Liara finally stopped to breath. “I didn’t think anyone would ever find me down here.”

“You certainly did not make yourself easy to find, doctor.” Shepard’s good humored tone did little to mask the concern in her voice.

Liara took another long drink, and silence held between them a while longer.

Shepard took the moment to look the doctor over as best she could from a distance. She seemed shaken, but whole. What surprised her most was the archeologist’s attire. It was far from what she might expect from the daughter of an Egyptian socialite, or an Oxford scholar; no finery or expensive materials, not even a tailored cut displayed her as such. Her clothing was utterly practical, loose and unremarkable, chosen for working hard at the dig. It looked comfortable, even, save for the layer of dirt which now covered it. By far the most notable of her garments, Shepard saw, the good doctor was wearing trousers. It was most out of the ordinary for a lady of her standing. But with a broken leg, it was definitely for the best. At the moment she sat huddled over one knee, her left, with the other leg out straight, likely broken, by Liara’s testimony.

Shepard held her lantern around from where she stood and tried not to make her inspection of Liara too obvious. The chamber they had fallen into was significantly larger than expected, and the lantern did not illuminate the far wall, wherever it might be.

“I am sorry that you have to see me like this, Commander.” Liara shifted, looking herself over, and fiddled with the hem of her trouser cuff. Ah. So Shepard had not been as subtle as she had hoped.

“I did hope we might meet under better circumstances, doctor.” Shepard confirmed, again failing to force lightheartedness into her tone. She busied herself, removing the bandages and makeshift splint from her pack.

“I apologize for my… indecorous appearance.” Liara continued uncomfortably. Shepard looked up. She had moved the lantern between them, and even in its dull yellow light she could tell the other woman was blushing. Oh. Shepard at once became keenly aware of the impropriety of their situation. As a woman there might have been no problem in her meeting Liara alone and in such dress - or as little problem as any meeting stranded at the bottom of an ancient well might pose - but as a man, as she was purported to be, it might have been the height of scandal in Dr. T’Soni’s eyes.

“Oh it… I…” It was not often that the keen mind of Commander Shepard so fully shut down, delivering only silence where she had meant to summon words. “It is no matter.” She managed at last, but the damage had clearly been done. After twelve years, was it still so hard to act a man yet be herself? “A woman such as yourself should...” Shepard was trying to salvage this, but even as the words left her mouth she knew they were wrong. Man or no, there was little good way to finish a sentence dictating what a woman like Liara  _ ought _ to do. “Should wear whatever she pleases.” She managed. “I suspect skirts would only hamper your, uh, ability to…. Acheologize.”

Liara stared at her a moment, as both women silently wondered if this was, in fact, a word. Shepard suspected it was not. But then, for the first time, she saw Liara smile.

“Yes, I rather think they would.” There was sunlight in that smile.

_ Oh _ .

Shepard looked away, back to the medical supplies in her hands, and began an inner litany against herself.  _ Don’t _ , she told herself.  _ Don’t stare at the pretty girl. You’ll only make her uncomfortable, and you know you could never do anything other than that.  _ It was not the first time this particular speech had to be employed. She tried to distract herself and push past the awkwardness.

“Is your leg…?” Shepard called down a curse upon herself for making the smile drop from Liara’s lips as they returned to the matter at hand. 

“I think it may be broken.” Dr. T’Soni confessed, touching her right knee gingerly. “Here,” she indicated the calf, near her ankle.

“May I?” Shepard gestured with the splint. Liara bit her lip and nodded.

Shepard then realized that the best way to distract herself from the proximity of a pretty girl was probably not to ask to touch her leg. But the injury did need seeing to, and she was nothing if not a woman of action. She heard Liara take a deep breath as she placed a gentle, tentative touch on the doctor’s ankle, but the injured woman did not flinch. The flesh there was swollen, tender, and warm to the touch; all bad signs.

“This was three days ago?” Shepard asked, bringing the lantern closer.

Liara nodded, but held her breath.

“I’m going to need to roll this up a bit. It might hurt.” Shepard gestured to her trouser cuff, which was now fit tight to the swollen limb. She waited for Liara to nod again, but when she tried to move the cloth she knew it would only hurt it worse. Shepard drew a pocket knife from her pack, and carefully slit the cloth to release tension, slow and controlled. Both women subconsciously held their breath, and Shepard was aware of the tears that filed the corners of Liara’s eyes, but the doctor made no sound. 

Liara had already removed the boot and stocking from her right foot. It was definitely broken, but there was no external injury besides a minor abrasion. Shepard placed the wood she had brought around Liara’s ankle and explained that she was going to have to tie it rather tightly, but it would help the healing in the end.

Liara nodded. “I set it as best I could.” Her breath came shallow as she fought through the pain of having the injury manipulated. Shepard shuddered to think of trying to set one’s own fractured bone, alone and in the dark. Excruciating. Now, tying a splint was all she could do to help make sure Liara’s struggle had not been in vain.

“Doctor Chakwas will need to take a look at this once we are back on board.” Shepard found herself saying as she carefully bound Liara’s leg.

“I’m sorry?”

“I apologize. My surgeon. Of the  _ HMS Normandy _ ,” she explained.

As if on cue, a voice called from above.

“Commander!” It was Lieutenant Williams. Shepard looked up and noticed for the first time that the light of the sky far above had begun to dim.

“Lieutenant, report!” She responded, her shout echoing in the too-big cave, and stood to her feet.

“We’ve found some rope, sir, but it does not look nearly enough. We could use the tent canvas, but I don’t think it would hold. Especially not both of you.”

“You’ve checked the dig sites?”

“Aye, sir. The camp had little in it, and the dig sites look as though they were looted before we arrived. There’s nothing there, sir, except some shovels. And the...bodies, sir.”

Shepard glanced down to catch Liara’s reaction to this grim news, but the doctor’s expression was stoic.

Silence held once more as Shepard considered her options. It would take more than just a decent rope to get Dr. T’Soni to the surface, and they didn’t even have that. A pallet would be ideal, and a beam and tackle set up above. Several more hands would be of use. And even once they were out, it would be two days walk for Liara with a broken leg. They simply did not have the supplies that they would need.

“Doctor?” Shepard waited for a hummed response. “I hate to ask this of you, but do you think you could stand another few nights in this cave? Provided food and water, of course.” She was loathe to ask, but saw no other way.

Liara took the request bravely but seriously, and took her time, considering, as Shepard had, their options. “If we must,” she said at length, coming to the same conclusion as the Commander. “I would certainly hate to be halfway up and fall again. And nights down here are... safe, at least.” She gave a great sigh. “I suppose that would be best.”

“Your orders, sir?” Williams shouted from above.

“Lieutenant Williams, toss down as much food and water as you and the others can spare, and take the men back to the  _ Normandy _ .” She could already hear the commotion her orders were causing above. “Fetch another half dozen hands, and Dr. Chakwas, bring rope and tackle and more provisions as you need, and return for us here with all haste.”

“Sir!”

Shepard did not allow Williams to interrupt. “I believe a pallet will be in order to lift us out. Oh, and send down my camp supplies, and another lantern if you can. Use whatever rope you have left and let it drop. It won’t be an exactly graceful landing, but I might be able to catch it-”

“Sir, do you really expect us to leave you out here alone?”

“I could stay with you, Commander.” Major Vakarian spoke up.

Shepard was not used to her orders being questioned, but it was a fair point. Someone could stay top side, just in case. But it would only split their provisions and leave one of her men practically alone up above in the forest.

“Commander Shepard.” It was Liara’s voice that drew her attention next. “This part of the forest is… Not a safe place to be, at night.”

Shepard opened her mouth to question this, but the look in Liara’s eyes said more than words. The image of the terribly defaced bodies they had found above rose in Shepard’s mind, unbidden, and she wondered why Liara, trapped in this pit, was the only member of her expedition still alive.

“I have given my orders, Lieutenant! Return to the ship with all haste. And take the Major with you.”

“... Yes, sir.” Williams confirmed at last, and stepped away.

“Well, Dr. T’Soni.” Shepard looked back down to her new companion. “It seems like we are in for a bit of a long night.”

\----------------------------------------------------

It took some time to transfer the necessary stock of supplies, with Williams tossing packages blindly into the dark, and Shepard attempting to catch them. The more fragile items they wrapped in Shepard’s bed roll and lowered on what rope they had to spare, but still had to drop a decent twenty feet. By the end of it, Shepard and Liara had the makings of a decent camp down in their cave. Their rations were low, but would last them a week if they were careful, and Vega had thought to send some firewood down.

Shepard was feeling rather good about their ability to cope with the situation, especially after Williams had sent her personal effects, including her hat and her jacket down.

Liara, however, grew more anxious with every passing minute. Shepard could not help but notice. It was difficult to tell from underground, but the sun was nearly set, and the light would be failing soon.

“Commander Shepard,” she interrupted at last. “Your men must leave this place.”

Shepard’s sweat beaded brow knit, but whatever question she might have asked died on her lips. “Very well,” she said, with a look she hoped communicated  _ we will discuss this later _ in a definite tone.

“Lieutenant!” she called up.

“Sir?” Williams appeared again at the mouth of the cave above her.

“I believe we are set here. Take the men and head back east.”

Ashley looked up, towards the setting sun, and pointed as if Shepard could see it. “We were going to make camp, Sir, and set off come morning.” Her voice faltered slightly, as if Shepard’s glare could have effect even through the gloom. “With your leave, sir.” She added.

“You do not have it, Lieutenant!” Shepard’s tone was final. “Look around you, do you wish to sleep with the dead?”

“N-No sir. We’ve buried the-” 

“I don’t know what happened to those men, Lieutenant, but I would very much hate for you four to find out first hand! If there is a jaguar or some other beast out there, I would like you to be as far away as you can. Tonight.”

Even from the cave she could hear Paulo saying something, which sounded like a rather enthusiastic agreement.

“Aye sir. As you say, sir,” came Ashley’s response. By this time the others had gathered around the cave entrance, and each, save Paulo, gave a solemn salute.

“Besides,” Shepard continued in a softer tone. “The sooner you leave, the sooner you can return.”

“Sir?” It was Major Vakarian who spoke up. “If there is a beast in this forest, leaving you here to-”

“Thank you for your concern, Major.” Shepard stopped him there. The longer they stood here talking the longer it would take them to leave. “Doctor T’Soni has survived this long without protection, I dare say she and I will be alright hidden here,” she assured.

Garrus merely nodded and shouldered his gun.

“Get as far away from these ruins as you can before you make camp for the night.” Shepard repeated her order. “If I make it back up there and find one of you dead, mark my words, I will not be pleased!”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Williams gave one last salute. “Expect us back in four days time.”

“Godspeed, Lieutenant.”

Shepard heard the sound of her subordinates moving out, and then silence. Or as silent as a rainforest could be. The birds returned, and various other noises that Shepard could not name.

And then they were alone.

Shepard lowered herself to the floor to go through their supplies. The light would die soon, and she wanted to be prepared.

“Thank you for sending them, Commander.” Liara’s voice was still somewhat weak, but her tone was earnest.

“Yes, well,” Shepard had found a flat place a bit further down the slope where Liara rested, and was gathering firewood in her arms. “Perhaps now you can tell me what all of that was about.”

“Don’t light a fire, please.” Liara stopped her. Shepard put the wood back on the ground. With a look of concern she came closer, and settled herself on the ground next to Liara again. 

“What happened?” She asked quietly, and waited for a response. Liara looked away and shook her head, but Shepard was patient. The longer the doctor took, though, the deeper the dread ate in her heart. She could not keep the sight of the dead men above out of her mind.

“I don’t... “ Liara started and stopped. “I didn’t…”

Shepard placed a warm hand on Liara’s own. She could feel it trembling.

Liara bit her lip and looked up at last. The light between them was dim, but Shepard had no trouble making out the terror in her eyes, deepening as the darkness above grew.

She gave Liara’s hand a comforting grip and then stood to her feet. Pressing her now would only bring more trauma. And they had to prepare for the night.

“Here,” she said, retrieving the bedding she had brought from the pile on the floor. It was not much, but it was surely better than Liara had had the last three nights. “Would you like to stay here, or move to flatter ground?” Shepard gestured into the dark. Liara took a moment, looking into the cave, and then back to the opening above, and finally at her leg.

“I think I can make it down,” she nodded, and braced her arms to push herself up.

“Wait a moment,” Shepard put out a hand to dissuade her. She quickly went  down the slope and laid out the bedroll by the light of the lantern at her side.

“Please, allow me,” Shepard dusted her hands off as she came back where Liara was patiently waiting, and knelt to pick the injured woman up.

It was then she remembered again that Liara was a complete stranger, and here she was, a strange man trying to pick her up and carry her to bed. The thought made her glad that Liara could not see her blush. But if Liara had any hesitation about the motion she did not show it, and soon Dr. T’Soni was in her arms, with her arms about Shepard’s neck. Her weight rested mainly on Shepard’s left arm, with her splinted leg held as gingerly as Shepard could manage across her right.

It was moments like this that Shepard became far too aware of the tight binding on her chest, and she always managed to become aware of it too late. She felt her body act almost on instinct, leaning in a way to make itself seem flatter than it really was.

It was a much slower move down than Shepard needed it to be, but it was dangerous to walk in the dark when she could not see her own feet, and her worst fear would be to drop the woman in her arms. Eventually she felt the edge of the bed roll at her feet, and Liara helped to direct her down.

“Thank you, Commander.” Liara eased herself back, and made an appreciative noise as she stretched out, having been sitting in a corner for three solid days.

Shepard tried to ignore the noise, for her own sake.

“Is your leg alright?”

“Yes. Well, as good as it can be, I suppose.”

The bedroll was little more than a blanket. “Here.” Shepard at once removed her jacket, folding it up into a passable lump of a pillow and placing by Liara’s head.

“Thank you, Commander, I... “ Liara stopped. “What about you?”

“I’ll be alright, Doctor.” Shepard took a few respectable steps away before settling down on the bare rock. She laid out with her head resting on her arm, and placed her hat over her face as if to prove the point.

She could have sworn she almost heard Liara laugh.

“Here.” The bundle of her jacket flew and knocked the hat off of her face. “I will be alright without. You’ve done more than enough, Commander.”

“If the lady insists,” Shepard smiled, and laid the jacket over herself like a blanket instead of placing it under her head. The small light of the lantern still glowed between them, casting long flickering shadows on the walls.

Silence held between them a moment, and Shepard noted that the sun had in fact set. She was about to open her mouth and ask a question when what she was hearing sunk in. Silence. Real silence, in the middle of the rainforest. She caught Liara’s eye and silently leaned over to turn their lantern off. If there was something out there, the light would only gain its attention.

The only light now was the far off glow of the moon, filtered through their one window in the world far above. It was not much, but by it Shepard drew her sword and laid it, blade ready should the need arise, on the ground between herself and Liara. She had intentionally set the bedroll somewhat further into the cave, to place herself between the doctor and the entrance. But she had not felt until this moment that the precaution might be necessary.

Shepard tried not to let her eyes rest on the one spot of light for too long, lest she ruin her already limited ability to see through the dark. In the silence her imagination was the most dangerous of all. For now, alone in the dark again, the mental image of the dead men they had found in Liara’s camp was joined by the gory sacrifice she had witnessed in Atlantis. The memory of the profound, stygian darkness which followed now filled every corner of this cave in her mind.

_ Surrender now against the growing void.  _ The words rang again in her head. _ We are endless. We are the end of all things.  _

Shepard stared into the darkness and struggled not to fall into it. She did not notice the white knuckled death grip she had on her bared saber or how her heart raced until she felt a hand on her own.

“Commander Shepard.” Liara whispered, low and quiet. The simple address rang like a bell in the silence, shattering it, and breaking the spell which held Shepard fast.

Shepard’s hand relaxed at Liara’s touch and she muttered a barely audible apology. She knew that they ought to remain quiet, remain unknown in the night. But she needed to hear Liara’s voice, to prove she was not alone. “What is out there?” She whispered back.

It was probably the worst question she could have possibly asked. Shepard realized in that instant that she very much did not want to know. Still, she tried to rally the rational side of her mind. That truth could not be as horrible as her nightmares. Except, of course, when it was. Or when it was worse.

“I don’t know.” Even with fear in her voice, hearing another human being nearby was grounding. “The first week, nothing happened. We made camp and got to work.” Liara was whispering, but it seemed she too sought comfort in dialogue. The backs of her fingers still lightly rested on Shepard’s, which still held on to the hilt of her sword laid between them.

“And then, one night we heard… a noise.” Shepard’s regret at asking was growing by the second, but she could not stop Liara now. If the archeologist could brave this traumatic terror, then so could she. “A noise like drumming, like chanting, it… It was not a language that I know.”

Shepard’s eyes were wide in the dark. She knew exactly which language it had been. She had heard the demonic chanting herself, and the drums. The raucous, terrible drums. She could hear them now, beating in her head, and that chant. That horrible, inhuman gibberish which she knew to be a tongue older than men, set to an unworldly rhythm and an insane melody.

Through the horrible silence of the night and the cacophony of Shepard’s mind cut a brief, quiet burst of laughter; genuine and amused. The only word for it, even in a moment such as this, was ‘adorable’. And Shepard felt it in her heart.

“...and that’s saying a lot,” Liara continued, untouched by Shepard’s fear. It took a long moment for Shepard to catch up to what Liara had said, and how she could be giggling at time like this. How dare she? All the same, it was the sound of sanity. And Shepard never, ever wanted it to stop.

When the Commander did not respond to her joke, Liara was forced to clarify. “I know a fair amount of languages, I mean.” Shepard could practically hear the blush in her tone.

“Hmm.” She felt she should find a response, to at least let the doctor know she was listening. And she wanted to keep her talking. “How many?”

Liara paused for a moment, counting. “Seven...?” She said at length.

“Sev-” Shepard started, sounding impressed, but Liara finished.

“-teen.” Seventeen.

Shepard’s comment fell from her lips, her mouth hanging open. She was glad of the dark now, so Liara could not see her openly gawk. Seventeen languages! And an Oxford degree. All by the age of… Shepard was always terrible at guessing ages, so she did not make an attempt.

Liara again took her stunned silence as a cue to explain. “Not all of them remarkably well, though. And many of them aren’t really spoken anymore at all, just written, you know, and…”

Shepard felt she should stop the doctor’s rambling before she tied herself in a self deprecating knot. “Seventeen?” She attempted to make some sort of response. “Well then I suppose that is saying quite a lot.” She wished she could see Dr. T’Soni’s smile.

Now that the spell of silence was broken they whispered like a pair of children through the night. The silence still hung about the ruin, but they did not let it rule them.

“What was I saying?” Liara wondered aloud in a tone which betrayed how often she raised the question of herself.

“The, uh, chanting.” Shepard offered, feeling the fear of it once again twinge in her gut.

“Oh. Yes.” Liara was somber once more.

Silence hung between them again. Shepard found herself moving her hand, a slight motion of comfort, brushing the back of her fingers against Liara’s own. To let her know she was here, without pressing, and to lend the doctor what courage she could.

“I don’t know what happened, really. One of the men, Eduardo, went to investigate, but never returned. In the morning we went looking, but found nothing. The next day, near evening, was when I fell down here. I was walking above when the rocks simply collapsed under my feet. It was a foolish mistake. I’m lucky that I only broke my leg, as I tumbled rather far. I called out, but no one heard me and then… Then that night the drumming came back. Louder this time, and then…”

“It’s not a jaguar out there, is it?” It felt like a silly question to ask. Shepard felt foolish now warning her crew of something as safe and tame as a jaguar. She hoped they were far, far away by now.

“If it is a jaguar, perhaps it is a Mayan jaguar god.” Liara’s tone was far off, but Shepard could tell she was serious.

Shepard nodded but remembered Liara could not see her. “A god or something like one.” She added at last.

“I could hear it… them… whatever happened. I could hear as they… the men… I... I knew they were dead.” Shepard kept silent while Liara recounted. “I stayed quiet, I didn’t know if… I still don’t know what would happen if…”

“Let’s not find out.” Shepard’s eyes were again drawn to the mouth of their prison of a cave. Only the barest hint of moonlight made it through. As long as no shadow passed over that moonlight, she told herself, they would be alright.

“Is it… like this,” she gestured invisibly concerning the even less visible silence. “Every night?”

“No.” She could practically hear Liara biting her lip. “Sometimes the chanting comes back.”

Oh. Wonderful. Perhaps they were in fact better off in the cruel silence, then.

“Have you been able to sleep?” Shepard tried to match her tone from earlier, a simple medical concern about Dr. T’Soni’s health.

“Yes,” Liara sighed. “Somewhat. Perhaps we should try to. Sleep, I mean.”

“Yes,” Shepard agreed. “It has been a long several days.”

“Goodnight, Commander Shepard. I am sorry you are stuck down here, but very glad you found me.”

“Goodnight, Dr. T’Soni,” Shepard echoed. “I am also glad I found you when I did.”

Utter silence reigned once more.

Not a full minute had passed before Liara spoke again.

“How  _ did  _ you find me, Commander? And how do you know my name?”

“Ah.” It felt like they had known each other forever. “In the morning, ask me again. I came to seek your help in a… research project.”

“And you followed me all the way to  _ Yax Mutal _ ?”

“Yes, and it’s a good thing I did.” Shepard tried and failed not to sound defensive. “I apologize, doctor. It is… not a thing to discuss at night.”

“Very well.” Liara acquiesced. “It seems we will have ample time in the morning. And for the next several days.” There could be no mistaking the distaste in her tone.

“Help is on its way, doctor. On its very round about way.” It was an attempt to make Liara laugh again. And to Shepard’s delight, it worked.

“Goodnight, Commander. In earnest this time. The sooner we sleep the sooner you can tell me in the morning.”

“Indeed. Goodnight.”

The warmth of Liara’s hand drew away from Shepard’s and the Commander let out a small sigh and adjusted her other arm under her head. Sleep. Right. It was going to be a long night.


	14. Past Imperfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies that it has been so long in posting this. I have several chapters pretty much ready to go, but I am trying to make sure that they are all "forward compatable" as it were to the ones I'm still working on.

It was with genuine surprise that Shepard found herself waking up the following morning. There were several things to be surprised by. For starters, there was the water touching her face, cold against her ear. Secondly, it turned out that she was not on board the _ HMS Normandy _ nor in her normal bed at all, but laying upon cold, stony ground. By the time she was on to the third surprise, Shepard’s mind had caught up to the previous night. It was perhaps most surprising that she had gotten any sleep at all. The sunlight to which she opened her eyes seemed blinding, even though there was relatively little of it, and what there was was markedly dulled. The noises of the forest were back; birds and monkeys and all. And there was another sound, explaining the water on her face. It was raining. Water pattered gently against the hole in the stone high above them and came dripping and flowing down in a tiny stream that just so happened to flow right to where Shepard slept.

“Uhg,” she moved her head and wiped at her ear, sitting up. Her sleeve, too, was soaked. Great. Well, it couldn’t be helped. She watched the water alter course, flowing into the space she had vacated, and realised it would hit Liara next if it kept flowing. But she looked up to see the archeologist already sitting up out of the water’s way.

It was the first time she had gotten a good look at Liara’s face in the daylight and with her eyes adjusted. It was also the first time Shepard realised that Dr. T’Soni wore glasses. She had not had them on the night before, but must keep them on her person. They were slim and round, and the glass in one of the lenses was rather badly cracked, but somehow they still looked like the height of scholarly endeavour. In fact, the glasses suited her current appearance rather well; dressed in common work clothes and mired by four days of living underground, but still beautiful and noble of appearance. Liara’s skin was bronze and her face freckled. She wore her dark hair long and mostly up, pinned into a loose bun which she was currently wrapping with a thin braid. She had wiped some of the mire off of her face, which now stood in a sharp contrast to her poorly garments. And she had pulled the Commander’s bedroll blanket around her shoulders like a shawl.

From behind cracked glass, dark brown eyes surveyed Shepard with the same detail, and the Commander wondered what sort of image she cut; two days in the forest and one underground, dirty and disheveled with one dripping sleeve. At least her binding was dry. She hoped it would stand up to a few more days. It was far from comfortable to sleep in, but she had faced worse than four days without rebinding as a recruit. Her hair was another matter. Half of it was now wet, and it needed seeing to. She had kept it tight in a low ponytail at the base of her neck for the last twelve years, so retying it was no trouble at all.

“Good morning, doctor.” Shepard fought off a groan as she pressed herself to her feet and stretched.

“Good morning, Commander.” Liara’s voice sounded far too awake and alive.

“I hope you slept well.” Shepard’s brain was still catching up, but formalities were comfortable. Small talk was safe.

“Better than I have these past nights, certainly.” Liara smiled. “And yourself?”

“Yes, yes,” Shepard muttered, distracted, as she tried to wring some of the water out of her sleeve without taking it off. “Does it always do this?” She gestured to the rain, disturbed.

“Rain?”

“Yes.” 

“In the rainforest?”

“Good point.”

“It won’t last long,” Liara assured, “And then it will be back later and gone again.” She waved off Shepard’s concern. She seemed remarkably calm, for a woman trapped in a cave for three days, with three or four more to go. 

Shepard merely hummed a response, watching the water, and let the unvoiced comparison to whatever that was last night hang in the air. Gone and back again. She had many questions, and she was sure Dr. T’Soni did too. But first, breakfast.

She crouched next to her bag. Dried beef and ship biscuit it was. And dried beef and ship biscuit it would continue to be. She removed an equal portion of each, and handed one to Liara.

“Thank you, Commander.”

Shepard merely hummed a distracted response, and the pair ate in contemplative silence.

In the light of morning it was hard to even remember the darkness of the night before. Shepard listened to the sounds of the living, alien world beyond their prison and could not help but either laugh at or bemoan the absurdity of it all.

She had crossed an entire ocean, sailed from one side of the globe to the next, and had trekked for several days through unforgiving and uncharted wild lands, dragging her crew the whole way, only to find herself trapped in an unmarked, pitiful hole. And all because of a bad dream. And what did she have to show for it? Empty words and empty waves. And a childish fear of the dark.

What was the plan, Shepard? Even if you get yourself and Dr. T’Soni out of this scrape, what next? Take her with you, away from her research, across the globe, to show her the empty spot of ocean where an island ought to be? Tell her - a notable scholar in the field - of how you once dreamed you were in Atlantis when the mythic city fell? And report back in London empty handed, having wasted even more time and resources than if she had turned back at once, or never pressed Anderson into letting her go. Shepard took a rueful bite of her ship biscuit and sighed. She was a fool. Blinded by her own determination. And she had put them all gravely at risk. She had dragged them into perilous waters, into the heart of a rainforest, and sent them off again alone. All for what?

Liara shifted and Shepard looked up. Well at least there was one good thing to come of this. Be it providence or sheer blind luck, Liara would likely be dead in a few days time, if it weren’t for Shepard’s wayward arrival. And if saving the doctor’s life was the only good thing to come from this entire misadventure, perhaps that would be enough.

It still did not answer the ever present question, the burden of command: What next?

It was still not too late to turn back. Anderson and Hackett would forgive this misadventure, especially if it brought about Dr. T’Soni’s survival. They had only diverted one ship, and only for a few months. But the longer she stalled, and the more people she drug into this - first Major Vakarian, and now Dr. T’Soni - the worse it would get. Perhaps she ought to just help the young archeologist back to Belize, provide escort wherever she wished to go, and put this entire ‘Atlantis’ venture behind her. It would be what was best for everyone involved. She had known that for weeks now, but had hesitated. And now look where it got them.

Shepard was fiddling with her food more than eating it at this point as her frustration grew. On the _ Normandy _ it was common for this sort of issue to result in an extremely thoroughly inspected ship, as Shepard sought any employment to take her mind off the decision at hand. But she was not on the _ Normandy _. She was stuck in a musty old cave. 

The sound of water being drunk from a canteen brought her back to the present. Liara had nearly finished eating, but Shepard had barely begun. The silence between them was stretching out now, and Shepard knew from the look in Liara’s eye that still waiting for answers to the questions she had asked last night. Shepard preempted her strike.

“I suppose I owe you some explanation, doctor.” She offered, stopping then to chew. Dry rations were tough, and could take a long time to eat. But all they had was time.

“Well, if you’re going to feed me, I don’t think you owe me anything, Commander.” Liara smiled. Despite her dour mood Shepard could not help but laugh. There was something contagious about Dr. T’Soni. Something in her eyes, perhaps, or her laugh. It made Shepard’s worries seem as far away as the morning light had made the terrible dark. For a moment she let herself lean into that light.

“Well,” Shepard gestured around at their stone prison, “We’ve little else to occupy our time.”

Liara hummed an amused response, “Company and conversation. Another benefit for which I am in your debt. I must admit, Commander, when I first heard you arrive I thought I might have been going mad. Hearing voices and what not.”

Shepard’s brow knit slightly at this in sympathy and did not know quite how to respond, so she brought them back to the matter at hand. “You have questions, as do I.”

Liara nodded, and Shepard decided to go for broke.

“So ask. Ask me anything.”

Liara raised an eyebrow at the open invitation and Shepard almost balked. Her words were bright, but even as they left her mouth, Shepard felt them settle like a weight in her gut. She would not and could not with any sort of good conscience lie to Dr. T’Soni. But if she told her the truth, there would be no turning back. She pushed the feeling aside, though, and continued. “We can have a go of it, and take turns. Ladies first, of course.” She added with a smile and a small bow of her head for good measure.

“Alright,” Liara smiled again as she considered what to ask. She had a way of cocking her head to the side when she was curious and interested in something. It made Shepard feel like the new subject of Dr. T’Soni’s academic study. “How did you find me?”

“Well,” Shepard thought of where to begin. “I heard a voice calling for help from down a hole.” Liara made a face, and Shepard corrected course. “We set out from London, having been told you were in Bermuda at the time. There we heard from Governor Bennett that you had boarded a merchant ship on passage through Jamaica and to Belize, so we altered our course. Our crossing was... not entirely without incident, but these waters rarely are.”

Liara’s brow knit. “_La Alondra, _the merchant ship, faced no trouble.”

“Ah. Well at least there is that. Our own trouble was nothing, really. It only drew us slightly off course.

“What happened, Commander?”

Hmm. She had said Liara could ask her anything. “Well. I guess we do have time…”

\----------------------------------------------

The passage from Bermuda to Jamaica had gone without incident. But even in the _HMS Normandy _they had arrived too late to catch up with the woman who was now unknowingly leading them on quite the chase. They had caught a fair wind out of Jamaica. That was promising. What was not promising was the foreign sail on the horizon.

‘Sail ho!’ had been called not half a day out of Kingston port. And the ships’ colours had been questionable at best. Or perhaps that was Shepard’s paranoia sinking in. Damned pirates.

She stood on the rear deck, spyglass in hand. Alenko stood beside her, also peering through a glass. “Spanish, sir?”

“Doubtful.”

There was no lack of Spanish ships in these seas. But they did tend to travel in packs. This one was alone. And from what she could see, had quite a bounty of guns aboard. Spanish colours or no, it was suspicious.

“Give her a wide berth, Mr. Moreau. Two degrees to port.”

“Two degrees to port,” Joker echoed, and adjusted.

The turn was in effect a test. If the so called Spanish ship was on a route of its own, then she and the _ Normandy _would pass at mere signalling distance. But if the ship altered course in turn, with an aim to overtake or intercept, then the pirates would have played their hand.

It was hard to tell any change in bearing from this distance, but no signal flags had been raised.

Shepard still gazed steadily through her spyglass, trying to get a glimpse of the ship’s name or her crew. “Lieutenant Alenko, have one of the forward guns loaded. In case our friends here are in need of a warning shot.”

“Aye, sir.”

Shepard’s gaze did not move, her jaw clenched.

“Make ready to loose all canvas at my signal, Lieutenant Williams. And pray God for a good wind.”

“Aye, sir. I do, sir.”

She could hear as her men went about their work, but kept her eye in the spyglass. No change in the other ship’s course.

“Mr. Traynor-”

“Aye, sir?” The ship’s navigator and signalling officer appeared at her elbow, and Shepard finally looked away and put down her glass.

“How-”

“Commander!” The interrupting call came from Major Vakarian, up on the fighting top. “Sail ho, sir!”

“Yes, Major!” Shepard’s response was quick as it was fierce. This was no time to be playing games. “I am perfectly aw-” 

“A second ship, sir!” Vakarian’s response flooded her brief anger with dread. Whatever she had been about to ask Mr. Traynor, it died on her lips and she brought her spyglass up again.

There were indeed two ships. And the first was headed their way. 

Damn. She knew that a confrontation like this was likely, at this time of year and through these seas. But their voyage had been going so well so far.

“Loose canvas!” Shepard gave the order, and heard the bosun bellow it out again to the crew.

“Forward gun loaded, sir.” Alenko returned with a sharp salute. “Are we to battle stations?”

“Not yet, Lieutenant, we are not looking for a fight.”

They had drilled for this the entire way across the Atlantic. It was as much a part of their routine as the sunrise. And yet now that the time had come, Shepard put if off as much as she could. If battle stations were called, the battle would be real.

It was not the first time Shepard had seen naval combat. Not even the first time she had been in sole command over it. But the Commander’s brief stint as Acting Captain of the _ HMS Langford _was far from a good experience. The exact opposite, in fact.

“Mr. Traynor, log our speed if you will.”

“Aye, sir.”

Numbers flew through Commander Shepard’s brain as various scenarios played out in her head. They appeared to have more sail than the approaching ships, and fewer guns. Fewer guns meant less weight, which might give them the advantage. But not by much. She watched as the approaching ship continued to alter course. Their aim would be to come alongside, and likely use the other ship to flank her. Shepard’s aim was merely to not let them.

“Full sail secured, sir!” William’s report came back. Shepard nodded her approval. Her crew moved fast. A good thing, too.

Shepard’s eyes were still glued to the sail on the horizon. They weren’t near enough to take a real shot. Probably. But they were gaining. Fast. The wind was not in Shepard’s favor today.

“Mr. Alenko, get me the name of that ship.” Shepard shut her spyglass and walked away to find something, anything else she could be doing. “Traynor, with me.” She and the young navigator filed into her cabin.

“How close is it to the nearest shoal?”

“I…” Traynor thought for a moment, looking worried. “There’s not one, Commander. Fifty leagues, at least.” Shepard shuffled through the papers on her desk until she found the map she was looking for. Traynor took another look. “The Cayman Isles would be closer, if we were to turn back and north, but…”

“But our new friends are to the north, yes.” Shepard thought a moment. Damn. She was hoping she could lose them tangled in some reef. It was always risky but she’d seen it work before. She stared hard at the map as if she could make land rise from it by sheer force of will. But if she could do that, they would be back on Atlantis right now.

Traynor kept silent and awaited her command. Shepard took a deep breath. Now was no time for rash decisions. Her hand had not yet been forced. The fact that at the mere hint of pirates her first thought had been a risky loop around the nearest shoal should have been a red flag. Speaking of flags.

“Run a signal up.” Shepard instructed. This should have been her first thought, and was originally, but the second ship had rattled her. “If these ships get any closer, I wish to address them.” But even as the words left her mouth, the prospect seemed a foolish one. A parlay with pirates? She was inviting trouble. Outrunning them would still be her best course.

Nevertheless, Traynor took his orders with a sharp salute and left. Shepard took a deep, steadying breath before following him back out into the light.

“Any news, Lieutenant?” She rejoined Alenko on the quarterdeck. The ship was still approaching. She thought the wind may have shifted slightly in their favor, but it was hard to say. They were certainly picking up speed.

“_ San Dimas _ is her name, Commander. And not, I think, of the Spanish fleet. But she still has colours raised. The other ship is still hanging back.”

“Good.” There was little more than to watch and wait.

“They’ll soon be in range, Commander. They’re gaining.” Alenko’s tone was expectant.

“We’ve run up flags to parlay if possible, Lieutenant. Do not fire any warning unless their colours come down.”

“Aye, sir.”

“All the same. Have the starboard guns loaded on the lower deck. But leave the gunports closed.”

“Aye, sir!” Kaidan was off, gathering the midshipmen and their men to accomplish the task. 

They were in range, now, and Shepard scanned the _ San Dimas _’ deck as best she could for any sign of hostility. Instead, she saw a signal flag finally join their colours. Parlay.

This could, of course, be a trap. But they had been in range a whole two minutes now, without any warning shots. She saw someone, probably the Captain of the _ San Dimas _ waving a large hat above his head. Shepard briefly removed her own, and gave a short wave in response. The _ Dimas _crew looked rather motley for the Spanish navy, but in Shepard’s experience the longer a crew was in the tropics, the more likely their standards of hygiene and dress were to relax.

The _ San Dimas _moved even closer, and Shepard could practically hear her crew waiting for the call to battle stations and arms. She kept her peace.

“Ho, there, _ Dimas _ !” Shepard called at last when they had drawn even nearer, and waved her hat again. She had given no order that their sail ought to be lessened, and it gave her some comfort to see that the _ San Dimas _was not quite keeping pace.

“_ Hola _ , _ Normandy!” _ She heard the apparent Captain shout back. “ _ Hablas español?” _

“_ Sí!” _ Shepard replied, although she did not, and summoned Midshipman Vega to join her on the quarter deck. The large man came jogging up as quick as he could, in time to hear the _ San Dimas _’ response.

“He asks our cargo and destination, sir.”

Shepard scoffed. “I’ll have his name first. Aide my introduction, if you will, Mr. Vega.”

James did as he was told. Shepard knew enough Spanish to follow the exchange, as she was introduced as Commander James Shepard, British Navy, and her intoloquetor was known as Captain Cristobal Fillipe, a Spanish _ corsario _, or privateer.

This was good news, but Shepard was not yet ready to let down her guard. Privateers might fly known colours, but they were an unknown entity, no mistake.

Shepard authorized her midshipman to provide their current course; from the British colony in Jamaica to the British colony of Belize. And added that they hoped not to be accosted on the way, seeing as the war betwixt Spain and Britain had come to an end. This gave the Captain a small laugh, which made Shepard’s hair stand on end. But his response was not a confrontation.

“He says they patrol these seas for pirates, Commander, on King Phillip’s commission. And they wished to make sure our colors were true.”

Oh. Was that all? It took a moment for Shepard to compose a response, stunned by the relief washing over her. Perhaps the _ corsarios _ had been just as concerned as they. Thank God they had run a signal up before opening fire.

“He also advises that we are somewhat off course for Belize.”

“Yes, well, a cautious route is often better than a rapid one.” Shepard tried to laugh, but it did not make it past her lips. “Mr. Vega, please assure our new friends that we mean neither they nor any Spanish ships or ports any harm, and wish them all our best in their Pirate hunting endeavours. Give them our warmest regards, and thank them for the parlay.” There was still time for this to turn sour, and Shepard wished to put the Spanish ships behind them with all haste.

“Aye, sir.” Vega translated quickly and passed the message along. Captain Filipe

doffed his hat again, and Shepard followed suit. She listened as he gave a parting message of his own, likely trying to sound as proper as he could before them.

“He wishes us well in turn, sir, and wants to give a friendly warning…” Vega translated as the Captain went on. “Be cautious around the coast, he says, several pirate ships have been reported these past days, including the, uh…” Vega had to have the Captain repeat this word. Shouting across the water was not the best form of communication. “Threshers, I guess.”

Whatever relief Shepard might have felt vanished in an instant as the name of Threshers struck like ice against her chest and froze the blood in her veins.

“Commander?” Vega was staring, and Shepard was sure she had gone quite white. 

“Thank you, Mr. Vega.” Shepard worked hard to master her tone. “Please convey my thanks.” Vega did so, and Shepard watched Captain Filipe give orders for the _ San Dimas _to pull away. “Thank you, Mr. Vega, that will be all.”

Shepard tried to fill the next several minutes with activity, to occupy her mind and keep it from wandering where it needn’t. “Return to our previous course, if you will, Mr. Moreau. West by northwest.” 

“Aye, sir. West by northwest.”

The Threshers were here.

“Lieutenants, please ensure the gun deck is safe, and have all canon unloaded.”

“Right away, sir!”

The Threshers were here, and if Shepard’s record was any indication, the bastards were bound to find her. And if they found her...

She scanned the horizon for new sail, but found only the retreating form of the _ San Dimas _and her partner. Somewhere out there, the Threshers were waiting. Some part of her wanted to be strong, and determined; to call this a chance for revenge. But no part of her wanted to enter that fight again.

These thoughts and more swirled in Shepard’s head as she walked the deck, pointing out any problem or mess that needed fixing, and assessing the strength of their sails, whether they should furl any canvas, in case the need arose again to put on a burst of speed. Although it would take more travel time, Shepard liked having a surprise or two up her sleeve. And if the Threshers found them, they would need more than a few.

“Is everything alright, Commander?” Major Vakarian’s voice finally brought her out of her reprieve.

“Yes.” She responded a bit too quickly. “Yes, I was just thinking how lucky it was that we chose to parlay instead of firing a shot.” It was not entirely a lie, for Shepard had been thinking it, up and until the name Thresher was mentioned.

“I don’t believe luck had much to do with it, Commander.” Garrus smiled. “Just a level head in troubled seas.”

“Yes, well,” Shepard normally could have taken such a compliment, but her mind was elsewhere. “Thank God everything worked out. And pray that such risks will not need to be called on again. Pirate or privateer, I’d rather keep our distance.”

“That’s probably wise.” Vakarian nodded. “Whatever the case, I am sure you are more than up to the challenge, Commander.”

“Mmm,” Shepard grimaced. Not if the Threshers had anything to say about it. And they did. Or they had, years ago. “Thank you, Major. Keep an eye out for any more approaching sail, if you would.”

“Of course, sir.” No sooner was it said than Garrus was back up the rigging. He has made quite a home with the topmen, it seemed.

Shepard wandered around her ship a while longer, checking that every job being done was done well, before falling back into the chair behind her desk and pouring herself a drink. There was no question of whether she would have nightmares tonight, nor of what they would feature.

\----------------------------------------------

“Despite my apprehensions, we met no other ships on our way into Belize, save for the merchant vessels near the docks. It seems foolish now, such bother over nothing. But caution is what keeps men alive.” Shepard concluded her tale. It seemed far less dramatic than it had at the time. “Once inland, we heard you had hired a guide and set out for this place, so we did the same, and the rest is, well, history.” 

From the look in Liara’s eyes, she clearly had a few follow up questions. And Shepard knew what they would be before she asked them.

“Who are the Threshers, Commander?”

Somehow, Shepard found that she wished to answer this question even less now that it had been voiced. Why she had promised to answer any question was quite beyond her now.

“Just a pirate band,” Shepard told her, trying to sound dismissive and not allow her voice to deepen with dread. “Like any other, they plague these waters like a disease. Parasites and predators. Unlike most, these travel in a pack. They call themselves the ‘Threshers’, or the ‘Thresher Maws’, and have taken to besieging ports when they’re able, or when they run out of other villainy to inflict.” There was no hiding the stark abhorrence in her voice, nor did she attempt to. “I met them once, in the Bay of Akuze. Nasty pieces of work. I had hoped we had seen the last of them then. Because if captain Filipe and his _ corsario _s find them, even with two ships, it might end in blood bath.”

Liara’s brow had knit. “I’ve heard stories of the battle of Akuze,” she said. “I passed through there on my last trip to the tropics. They say there were no survivors.”

The doctor’s eyes locked to Shepard’s own, and she held her gaze a long moment.

“There are always survivors, doctor.” Shepard supplied at last. “Otherwise there would be no stories.” She could read the skeptic curiosity on the other woman’s face. “Admiral Anderson, well, Commodore Anderson at the time, arrived to give the Threshers a good thrashing, after the fray. I hope to God they are still crippled as they were on that day.”

Liara may have had more questions, but she kept them to herself. Shepard noticed that the rain had stopped. She wondered what time it was. It was difficult, living without the sun. She stood and stretched her legs, and wandered over towards the only circle of light. At least it was somewhat cooler down here. She squinted up into the blue and green above her, and soaked in the warm light, holding out her still drying sleeve.

“I-” Liara stopped herself and thought a moment. “I have been rather selfish, Commander. I have more questions, but I suppose it is your turn.” Curiosity burned bright in the archeologists’ eyes as she watched Shepard stand in the light.

“Very well.” Shepard made her way back, considering. “You came all this way, doctor,” she mused as she resumed her seat. “Did you find what you were after, here in _ Yax Mutal _?”

“Oh.” Liara seemed a bit caught off guard by this. “I… I don’t know.”

It was Shepard’s turn to look on in curious confusion. “Surely you came all this way with a certain prize in mind?”

“Well yes, and no.” Liara failed to clarify. “I did not come here seeking treasure, or gold or anything,” from the way she was watching for Shepard’s response, this felt like a test. Shepard nodded along in understanding and tried to betray little else. It seemed a satisfactory response. “I found the city. That was a discovery enough. Well, not a discovery. Since Mr. Omar - my guide, God rest his soul - already knew where it was. But I set about mapping it, which had not been done. And we found several carvings and artefacts which, if we could understand them, might help us uncover the secrets of the ancient Mayan race.” Shepard had apparently passed the test, for Liara allowed herself to speak animatedly; losing herself in the wonder. “For instance one panel, which had fallen off a wall on the south side of the glade, bears markings which…” Shepard listened as Liara went on and on. She could not boast to actually follow everything the doctor told her, but whatever it was, she told it well.

As Liara continued, Shepard allowed herself to stare, watching each of the doctor’s fascinated expressions and listening to her wonderful voice; a strong, rich accent but perfect, proper speech. At times Liara grew frustrated that she could not merely show Shepard what they had found, for it was all up above in the valley and in her camp. Shepard assured her that her base camp and tent were still there, and that she had seen the map and carvings still on the table awaiting her return.

“Oh, well at least there is that.” This seemed to sober Liara a little, bringing her back to their current situation. “I apologize, Commander. You asked a simple question and I gave you a lecture in return. I’m sure you are not interested in-”

“Don’t apologize.” Shepard stopped her with a raised hand. “And you might be surprised. I’ve read your work, Dr. T’Soni.” This, it turns out, was a rather eyebrow raising admission in itself. “It was introduced to me by Admiral Anderson, via a friend at the National Library.” she paused, because this seemed like it needed some time to sink ing. “You mentioned just now observing architectural similarities to structures and styles of the Old World,” she recounted, as if to prove she had been listening, “That seems to support your thesis, does it not?”

Liara’s eyebrows shot up even further at this. “Yes.” She replied. “Yes, it does.”

Dr. T’Soni’s doctoral thesis, which Shepard had read on their way across the Atlantic, was not that the Mayans were descended from European ancestors, but that both Old and New World peoples were descended from one central branch, which had a far greater and lengthier heritage than most would credit. It may have been some far off Eden, and was likely a land lost to a world flood, as so many myths told. That this culture was not completely wiped away, but faded over time as different surviving races developed, and could still be seen in glimpses throughout the world was Liara’s chief argument. It was not one which had been sternly debated in academic circles, not because it was or was not revolutionary. More, it seemed, because no one else cared. Or at least they did not care to refute her. Whether this was on account of Dr. T’Soni’s sex, Shepard had never found out.

Shepard continued her question. “Have you found any to Atlantis?” She had not expected her heart rate to spike as she finally began to reveal her hand, and say the mythic word aloud. 

The archeologist’s initial reaction did not help comfort Shepard’s nerves. “Architectural similarities?” She asked, confused, “to Atlantis?” Ah, Shepard saw her mistake a moment before the doctor voiced it. “I’m afraid I couldn’t say for sure. No one has ever found Atlantis. So comparisons between the Old and New world are as good as we can get.”

“Ah. Of course.” Shepard looked away. “How foolish of me.”

“Oh no it’s… it’s alright.” Liara reached out a comforting hand which found Shepard’s arm just about the wrist, luckily on the sleeve which had remained dry. “I’m flattered that you have read my work, Commander.” She smiled, but Shepard merely nodded, still looking away. Liara let the silence sit, and released Shepard’s arm to adjust how her wounded ankle lay. 

Shepard broke the silence with another question. “You do believe in Atlantis, though. Don’t you?” She was fiddling with her sleeve now.

Liara did not need time to consider this, but answered solemnly. “Yes.”

“Do you believe anyone will ever find it?”

This took some more thought. “I suppose they could. It would be marvelous if they did. They would probably need some sort of diving apparatus - much more than just a bell. And of course there’s the question of where to even look…”

“And… what if…” She did not know why she was having such trouble saying this. She had said it to the Lord Chancellor and his lot seven times over, to Admiral Anderson and all the rest. But now talking to an actual scholar it somehow sounded idiotic. Especially after their fruitless search in the Sargasso Sea. “What if I told you… that I had.”

Dr. T’Soni stared at her, brow knotted and mouth slightly agape for a full and entire minute. Shepard could feel each second as it ticked by.

“I’m sorry, Commander, I’m not sure I understand.”

“It's your turn to ask questions.” Shepard pointed out. Liara did not laugh. Shepard busied herself with her pack again for a moment. “You asked me how I found you earlier, where I think you might have meant to ask why.” 

“Yes. Why _ did _you find me, Commander Shepard?” Piercing eyes continued to study her from behind broken glass.

“That,” Shepard uncorked a bottle of water, took a drink, and passed it on. “Is a much longer tale.” She found herself rubbing the back of her neck.

Liara leaned back, resting on her hands behind her. “As you said, Commander, we’ve little else but time.”

Shepard nodded and settled in. Seven repetitions of telling this tale would at least amount to something. And this time at least she had a willing audience.

What she wouldn’t give for some tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! This fic has kind of stalled in it's writing, but I really hope to bring it through, however long it gets. Thank you for kudos and comments!


	15. Night Terrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I'm gonna cry. I was not planning on posting another chapter this soon, but the comments I've gotten after this last one have blown me away! Thank you so much for reading and letting me know you're enjoying this fic. I can't post every chapter this quickly, but I wanted to give y'all more of that good good Shepard/Liara <s>and eldritch horror</s> content.
> 
> CW: As I said, horror elements, which could be triggering. Please take care of yourself!

On average, it had taken Shepard about an hour and a half to recount her story, depending on her interrogator. This time, it took three. And she had only just now gotten to the good part. Or the bad part, as it were.

She had begun by telling Liara the truth about the mission which had brought her to find the archeologist in _ Yux Mutal _ : that they sought her assistance in charting a newly discovered island in the eastern Sargasso Sea. Liara had started to protest that she had no expertise whatsoever that would make her of any assistance in such a task, but Shepard bid her wait and hear the rest. She had described their initial venture, and the storm which befell them that fateful night, going perhaps into more detail than the young scholar might have liked, as she appeared somewhat sea sick just from hearing of it. After this she told Liara of the land that had risen from the waves; fresh and soggy, and to all appearances newborn from the depths of the sea. Liara sat in rapt attention as Shepard told of their struggle to surmount the barren and difficult land, and of her own astonishment at what they found there. Ruins of an ancient civilization, appearing to have been either hidden under the waves or at least hidden from all maps, for God only knew how long. It was here that Liara’s interest truly peaked, and Shepard could hear her gasp the name of “ _ Atlantis _” under her breath.

Shepard found herself rather apprehensive for the part of the story that came next. It had been one thing to give her report to Captain Bailey and Chancellor Udina. She had been factual and straightforward, and she had not, on the whole, been believed. This was something different entirely. But for now, Liara’s barrage of questions was delaying the penny’s drop.

By the time Shepard had described in as much detail as she thought humanly possible the chaotic and crumbling layout of the ruin which they had found and its cyclopean architecture, she wondered if she need continue at all. Liara was clearly interested, and ready to make her way wherever Commander Shepard and the _ HMS Normandy _might lead, if it meant she could visit such a place and see with her own eyes.

“And you saw no other structures?” the archeologist’s interrogation continued.

“Well there was the wall I mentioned, and what seemed to be some stairs-”

“Oh yes, you said.” Liara nodded. Shepard could practically watch her mind at work. “You’ve been sent to chart this island, then.”

“Yes.”

“In the eastern Atlantic.”

“Yes, it-”

“And you came all this way? To find me?”

Shepard opened her mouth to answer, to protest that Liara did not know the tale in its entirety. To confess the madness which had brought her here, the vision by which she knew the island’s true name. But Liara’s piercing, scientific questions made every attempt in her head to land on an appropriate transition seem to fall short. What was she to say, that the island caused her to have a bad dream? Her mouth snapped closed when she remembered that Liara was waiting for an answer. “Yes.” She replied at last. “Yes, and it’s a rather good thing I did.”

It was the second time she had used the exact same defense. The fact did not appear to escape Liara’s notice.

“Why?”

“Well… because…” Shepard sputtered a bit. “Otherwise you might have-”

“Not that, Commander.” It was the first time she had seen Liara start to look cross. “Why did you come and find me. Surely you and your men could have charted this island on your own. Surely your… _ empire _,” Shepard could not ignore the tone in which the word was said “has archeologists of their own. I happen to know a few. Several, in fact.”

Shepard pursed her lips as she came up with a response. “Yes, well,” she managed at last. “None of them believe me.” Liara’s puzzled look prompted her to continue. “You told me that you believe that Atlantis does exist. That it could be found, some day. The other scholars you mention. I’ve read their books too. Do you think they would share this conviction?”

“Well, I’m sure they-” Liara hesitated, and her eyes met Shepard’s own. She stopped.

Shepard had not noticed until then how much they had been avoiding each other’s glance, but they held on now. “Do _ you _believe me?” It was a question she had spent several months dying to ask of anyone who would listen, and at every chance fearing to do so. And for once, it was a question she knew the answer to before Liara gave it.

“Yes.” Dr. T’Soni responded seriously. “Yes, I do.”

Shepard let out a breath she did not know she had been holding as relief washed her like a wave. “Thank you,” she breathed. A weight had been lifted off of her chest. But all the same, she had not even broached the really difficult topics. It was one thing to believe that an island of ancient ruins had miraculously appeared from the depths of the sea. It was quite another to buy in to Shepard’s story of the _ thing _in the dark.

For a moment, silence hung between them as they settled into the truth they had spoken, and Liara sorted through the revelation which Shepard had given to her. But eventually, Shepard had to be the bearer of bad news.

“I was, uh,” She again scratched the back of her neck and looked away. “I was also hoping you might be able to help us… find it. Again.”

“What do you mean?” Liara’s eyes were so innocent and hopeful.

“Unfortunately, after the damage done by the storm we were forced to return to London with all haste. As the _ HMS Normandy _was repaired, I requested that we be dispatched to chart the new island.” That was a gentle way of putting it. “But when we returned to our last known location before the storm, and followed a course through the area estimated to house the island we found… nothing.”

“Oh.” Liara looked only more puzzled than before. And crestfallen, that was the word. “I see.”

“My crew and I still hold out hope that with a little more time, we could find it again. But time was one thing we were running short of, and the wind was good to sail west.” Liara nodded her understanding, clearly still struggling to take all of this in, and Shepard continued. “I wish I was asking under better circumstances, Dr. T’Soni,” she wished that she had an island to show the doctor, and wished that they were not stuck down a pit whilst having this conversation. “But now you know what brought me here. Would you consider sailing with us? Once we are out of this hole? You will be compensated of course, I-”

“What? Oh. Yes.” Liara shook her head as if to rid it from its crowded thoughts. “Yes of course. Please.”

Worry pooled again in Shepard’s gut. There was no going back now. “There is a chance - a probability,even - that we will still not be able to find-”

“Commander.” Liara stopped her, placing a hand on Shepard’s own. “I would be honored.” Her voice was earnest and soft.

Shepard hoped that her face was not blushing quite as red as she felt.

“Splendid.” She said in as professional and pleased a tone she could. “This, uh… might have been an awkward next couple of days if you had said no.”

This managed to make Liara laugh again; a sound to which Shepard felt she may have developed a slight addiction by now.

_ Alright. Get it together, Shepard. _The Commander stood to her feet and stretched again.

“Perhaps we ought to take a look around.” She picked up and dusted off her hat and coat, and put both back on, satisfied that her sleeve was finally dry. She had not realised how naked and exposed she felt without them until now, and pulled her jacket close against her bound chest. “We’ve several hours before the light outside fully dies.” Before the silence, or worse the chanting, comes back, she meant. “That darkness has gone long enough without seeing to.”

“I’m afraid I will have to leave that to you Commander.” Liara gave a small sigh and readjusted her injured leg.

“Oh. I am sorry, I-”

“Don’t let me stop you, Commander, Please. Here-” She handed her the lantern they had used last night. “Let me know what’s there. I’ve been more than curious.”

Shepard took the lantern and nodded. “Of course. There may not even be much to find. But I will make sure and describe anything of note.” She stepped a few paces away into the dark, revealing more rough, dark stone. “I’ll not go out of earshot, or anywhere you cannot see this light.” Shepard held her lantern high and Liara nodded.

“Tell me more about Atlantis while you look?”

“O-of course.” Shepard stumbled momentarily over her words and over a small rock in her path. The rest of her story burned like a coal on her tongue now, the truth straining to get out. “What would you like to know?”

“Everything!” She heard Liara answer from behind her.

“Quite the tall order, doctor, but I will do my best.” Shepard could feel a betraying heat rise around her neck. It was not a lie. Not technically. If by Atlantis Liara meant the island which she and her crew had seen, she would indeed do her best. Her visions of another time and place could wait.

“It must have been marvelous.” Liara’s voice was what could only be described as ‘dreamy’.

“Mmm.” Shepard merely hummed a response. “Perplexing might be a better word.” She held her lantern high and let her left hand trace over the damp stone, wondering how many ages had passed since it had last been touched by human hands, if indeed it ever had. “I was hoping you could help me make sense of it. Even just the ruins, if only we could find them again.”

“Yes, it is puzzling.”

“It is quite unfortunate to lose the island you meant to chart.”

“It is more unfortunate to be trapped inside the ruins you meant to study.”

“Touché.”

“Perhaps two wrongs will make a right this time, Commander.”

“One can only hope.”

“What else did you want to know about the island, then?”

While she was telling the story of how they had come to the island, Liara had been a font of questions. And now Shepard wasn’t sure how many more questions she could possibly conjure up. But she had not spent enough time amongst academics, and her expectations were far surpassed. While the light lasted, Shepard did her best both to answer questions about the specifics of the island - it’s size, topography, and the like - while also narrating her own actions exploring the cave.

There was, it turned out, very little of note in the chamber. It was a rough; its oblong shape impeded greatly in places by debris, as of a cave in, but the walls appeared thick and stable. Shepard traced the entire perimeter, circling Liara as a planet does the sun. She was growing more and more curious about the space she felt her way through. This chamber was far larger than a mere well. Perhaps there were tunnels, or a cavern down here. They could of course get horribly lost. And there was Liara’s leg to consider. Shepard would never leave her behind.

Liara busied herself with theories of Atlantis, talking Shepard through a variety of scholarly opinions which would be drastically altered if her discovery were proven genuine. Shepard had encountered many of these more or less in her research but that did not mean she understood them. She asked what questions she could as she let her fingers trace across the stone.

As she came to the farthest part of the chamber, almost directly behind Liara, Shepard almost tripped again, and had to do a double take as the wall against her fingers fell away entirely, leaving a space of inky blackness, before appearing again a few feet on. If that was not a passageway, she would eat her hat. She could see no tool marks upon it, but like the wall she found on Atlantis, it was far too square.

Shepard looked back to Liara, and the cave entrance, and noted for the first time that it was beginning to get dark again. Liara looked especially small then. She could see her only faintly by the indirect light of the far off setting sun as it bounced off stone. Liara fiddled with the hem of Shepard’s bed roll, which was still pulled around her as a shawl, and took off her glasses to inspect the cracked glass. Shepard turned and made her way back.

“Anything of interest?” Liara put her glasses back on.

“The chamber seems to open up a bit, down there” Shepard pointed. “But I didn’t want to go much farther on.” Liara nodded, looking sadly at her leg.

“I am sorry, Commander. You could go on yourself if you’d-”

Shepard stopped her there. “No. I would not leave you, Dr. T’Soni. If I have one duty here, it is that. Besides, night is approaching.” 

Shepard resumed her seat, this time adjusting for where she knew water might flow come morning, and she and Liara shared another meal of dried beef, ship biscuit, and water. As Liara spoke more of Atlantis, the theories and evidence, Shepard’s glaring lie of omission burned ever feircer in her throat. But as the darkness grew, Shepard became more and more reluctant to dwell on her vision.

As true night came on, Shepard could feel the hair on the back of her neck rise. She had almost managed to forget her irrational - or quite possibly very rational - fear of the dark. It was easy to forswear in the light, but now she could not help feel that the jungle creatures overhead were getting fainter, even if it was a trick of the mind.

Shepard grew quiet, and Liara did too. They said their goodnights, and Shepard this time bundled her coat up as a pillow, and once again drew her sword and laid it between them on the rough stone, never letting it out of her grip. Liara did her best to try and stretch and massage her injured leg, and laid down as well, and turned off the lantern.

Tonight there was no late night discussion. But Shepard also did not hear the awful silence come on. Instead she merely lay restless, longing to be free of this prison, to be back on the waves, and dreading the dreams which always followed a recollection of her dark adventure in Atlantis. But she had learned years ago to sleep anywhere, and at any time she could, be it the middle of the day or the dog watch of the night. She let the sound of unknown night birds and singing insects lull her to sleep.

\----------------------------

_ That is not dead which can eternal lie, _

_ And with strange aeons even death may die. _

Shepard awoke with a start, the dread prophecy still ringing in her head, over and over again. Her grip tightened on the saber at her side as she sat bolt upright, gasping for breath.

All was darkness. Engulfing, utter darkness. An inky, black, stygian void here to consume her, body and soul. Her sword would mean nothing here. The very air she breathed was blackness, seeping into her hair, her skin, her lungs, covering her. And she could hear them still. Even in her waking ears. Their dread chanting followed her from nightmare into the terrible night.

“Commander?” A small voice broke through the noxious chatter.

“Yes.” The word escaped in a breath, as all which had happened between her and the terrible darkness flooded back. She felt the cold stone beneath her, the warmed metal in her hand. This was not that horrid temple. It was not.

Then why could she still hear them? Why did their chant still ring inside her head? She could hear it even now, the same words over and over. The tempo erratic, the melody atonal and wrong. Incomprehensible. And yet.

_ ch'nglui ng shuggnglui ahor mgahnnn ephaii _

_ yar ot nogephaii mgep nog _

_ ch'nglui ng shuggnglui ahor mgahnnn ephaii _

_ yar ot nogephaii mgep nog _

It was not the same chant from the temple. But it did not matter. The voices were the same: howling, wailing mockeries of human speech. Hearing them again now, so close and so real, Shepard could not help but ask, terrified of the answer: “Can you hear it?”

“Yes.” Liara sounded small, and scared.

It was real then. It was here. Even so, it was a relief to know she was not alone, that her own deranged imagination had not conjured the horror that haunted her both asleep and awake.

They listened together for a long moment, until Liara spoke again.

“What do you think they say?” The question, whispered quieter than a mouse for fear of being heard, was obviously meant to be rhetorical, to fill the night with any speech besides the blasphemous racket outside.

Shepard did not know what was worse: That it was a question worth asking, or that she knew the answer.

“_ The key and the gate shall open again. The time of returning has come. _” The words were out of Shepard’s mouth before she could stop them. She had never heard them before in her life, but somehow she knew that they were true. Both in that they were an accurate translation, so far as one might be achieved, and that they spoke a terrible, undeniable truth about the world, even if she did not know what it meant.

“What?” Shepard could feel Liara’s eyes on her, incredulous and afraid. She could feel her own, as if sitting outside of herself, looking in, searching out from where such a reply might have come. But there were no answers to be found.

“That’s what they say.” It was the only conclusion she could offer. Utter confidence, but no reason how or why she knew.

Liara did not respond for a long moment, and only the dark and the chanting filled the void between them. Shepard’s heart was slowly sinking further and further into her gut. What kind of monster did it make her, to understand such speech? And now that Liara had witnessed such a beast, she would doubtless be scared away. Flight was the only appropriate response, however it could be achieved. Soon Shepard would be alone again. Alone in the dark with the voices. Liara’s silence seemed to make them louder. Or perhaps they were coming closer. Shepard could feel the panic rising in her again like bile in her throat.

No. She had to focus. Shepard adjusted her grip on her sword, and tried to force her eyes to pierce the night. She tried to remember where each object with them was; her pack, the lantern, her jacket and hat. She did her best to put the jacket back on, clumsy and slow, never once letting her sword leave her grip, but transferring back and forth between her hands. The night was cold now.

There would be no going back to sleep. Not now. She would not lie dreaming in this black.

“What…” Liara’s voice came to her again. Shepard gasped quietly at the shock of hearing it, of being reminded that the other woman was still there. The archeologist’s voice was quiet but curious; academic, even. Shepard remembered that this was far from her first night trapped in this hole. How had she managed to face this dark alone? “What else do they say?”

Shepard could hear it. Like a knife twisting in her gut. There was more to the words than the daemonic chant. There was something else, joining them. A deep, pulsing voice not of this world. And what it uttered was far, far worse. It took her a long moment, a terrible amount of effort to focus, to listen to that to which her mind rebelled, that at which every base instinct turned her away. Her very being screamed in denial, but once she heard it, she could never ignore it again. There was another voice, an older voice, in the dark. And it was calling, calling out.

“My name.”

“What?”

“The voice. It is calling my name.”

“Commander, I-”

“Can you not hear it?” Shepard’s lips were trembling now, and her stomach was a deep pool of dread. The call was only getting louder.

“Commander-”

“It knows we’re here. It… I’ve…” _ I’ve put us in danger _ , Commander Shepard meant. _ It’s coming for me _.

Liara’s hands found her shoulders, gripping tight. “Commander James Shepard,” she addressed, in discord with the other beast. The name sounded flimsy and false in comparison. But Liara was trying.

Shepard gripped the other woman’s arms where they rested on her shoulders. “We have to go.”

“Shepard we’ve nowhere to-”

“The passageway.”

“What? What passage-”

“Come on.” Shepard attempted to stand, letting Liara’s hands fall from her shoulders and into her left hand, still gripping her saber in her right.

“Commander, my leg, it-”

“We haven’t any time. We must get away.” Shepard was looking over her shoulder now, towards the cavern entrance, expecting to see movement, any moment now. Liara pulled her hands from Shepard’s grasp.

“Wait just a moment, Commander, let me-”

Suddenly, there was light.

Shepard felt it wash over her like a physical wave. The sword in her hand clattered noisily to the ground. She gasped as if she had been drowning, and doubled over with her hands on her knees. Her whole body turned to face and to focus on the light, staring into the tiny flame which now illuminated the cavernous space, casting long, gold edged shadows on its rough walls.

Liara had lit the lantern between them. She held it reverently up for Shepard to see, and held her breath.

Slowly, gingerly, Shepard let herself back down to her knees, never letting her gaze travel away from the light, as her breathing recovered. She took the lantern into her hands.

“I… I apologize, doctor.” Shepard finally looked away, to see Liara’s face illuminated in the dark. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I don’t know what…”

“It’s alright.” Liara looked her over, still obviously worried, but said no more.

For a moment, in the quiet, Shepad dared to listen for the voices once more. But she found none. The chanting had ceased.

“It will be morning soon,” Liara pointed out. Shepard gave a mute nod. She moved to sit more comfortably on the ground, cradling the lantern in her lap.

“I don’t know what came over me, I…” She looked up again. “You heard them too, didn’t you?”

It was Liara’s turn to give a silent, frightened nod.

“Good.” Shepard let out another sigh of relief. She let herself look back towards the cave entrance again. Even now that the spell was broken, she could not escape the feeling that whatever had been out there, it was not gone for good. And it knew where they were. It was only a matter of time before it found her, sniffed her out in its dark domain. Although her urgency was gone, she still wished to get away from this place.

“You mentioned a passageway?” Liara must have been thinking much the same.

Shepard nodded and swallowed, still trying to get her breathing under control. But talking would fill the silence. Talking would replace the senseless chant in her head with sensible words. 

“It might not be one. It’s probably caved in. But there is something which might be an entrance to one. Over there,” she gestured with the light. Liara looked, but could not see that far in the dark. 

Liara looked next to the cave entrance. Shepard followed her gaze, and watched the portal high above them once more. She could see nothing through it, really. But perhaps Liara was right, the dawn was nearing. They say it is always darkest just before the dawn.

When she looked back, Liara was rubbing her injured leg. 

“Do you need me to re-splint it?” She offered, wishing she had more medical training to offer.

“Perhaps. Let’s wait until sun up, and then see about this passage.”

Shepard’s eyebrows shot up at this suggestion. “You think you could manage?”

Liara bit her lip but nodded, angling her foot to try and get a better view of it in the limited light. “Perhaps,” she repeated. “With some help.”

“Of course.”

Shepard’s heart rate was finally calming down. “I suppose we should try to get some rest, then. If we can.” She lay back down on the ground again, propping her head on her arms, and repositioned the lantern and her sword between them. It went without saying that the light would by no means be turned off tonight. Shepard prayed that the oil inside would last them until the others came. She had a second lantern, but they would need to ration their use.

When the silence had lasted a decent minute or two, Shepard could not help but reiterate. “I am sorry for my outburst, Doctor T’Soni. And… I want to thank you for your aid.”

“Of course, Commander. We shall make it out of here yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The R'lyehan speech was translated (here and going forward) with lingojam . com/RLyehian. 
> 
> I have been unable to keep up any sort of regular posting schedule for this story, and it has currently stalled somewhere around chapter 20, as I try and work out the longer term plot. But with everyone stuck at home, I hope to be posting the next ~4 chapters soon. Thank you again so much for all of your (so kind!) comments. I love nothing more.
> 
> A few people in the comments have expressed interest in Lovecraft. I confess I have not familiarized myself with his complete work, but have taken most inspiration from _Dagon, The Call of Cthulhu, The Dunwich Horror,_ and_ The Haunter of the Dark_, along with bits and pieces from a few others. His short stories are worth reading! And you'll see that several aspects of this story have been directly lifted from them. Other inspirations include _The Pirates of the Caribbean_, the _Horatio Hornblower_ series, _Indiana Jones, Tomb Raider_, and _Uncharted_, as well as my all time faves, _The Voyage of the 'Dawn Treader'_ by C.S. Lewis, Terry Pratchett's _Thud!_, and The Mechanisms' album _The Bifrost Incident_ (esp. "Red Signal" and following), which is actually where my own interest in Lovecraft started! Happy reading!


	16. The City Beneath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on Dr. Liara T'Soni, Oxon: I do know that she is about 200 years too early to be an Oxford scholar, but it seemed so fitting, and I do love Oxford so (am an aluma myself). I am in fact rather aware of several anachronisms in this fic. It's one of the reasons it works better here than as a published work of historical fiction. Thank you all so much for reading it and commenting etc regardless! I love you all.

Shepard surprised herself again by falling back asleep. This time she woke up without the aid of any rain. By the time her eyes were open, she was dimly aware of movement, and sat up to find her companion hopping on one foot.

“What?... What are you doing?” She asked groggily, pushing herself up to her elbows.

Liara stopped, mid hop, and caught the Commander’s stare. “... I should think it rather obvious.”

Shepard gave a small laugh. “Touché.” She watched as Liara wavered unsteadily on her one good foot for a moment. How had the woman even managed to stand up? “Do you need any help?” She asked from the floor.

“Mmm… yes,” Liara admitted. “I haven’t quite figured out how to sit back down.”

“An accident waiting to happen.” Shepard pushed herself up to her feet. She dusted her jacket off, donned her hat, and went to the lady’s aid.

“Take my hand.” Liara obeyed, and Shepard wrapped her other arm behind the archeologist’s shoulders. “Easy now,” between the pair of them, they gently lowered Liara back down, her right foot still elevated and straight. Liara bit her lip and let out a grateful sigh once the maneuver was accomplished.

“That looked like it hurt.” Shepard joined her on the floor and fetched her bag for yet another meal of ship biscuit and dried beef.

“Mm. A bit.”

“You are sure you want to-”

“Yes. I will manage.”

“Alright.” Shepard smiled and put up her hands. If the lady said she could do something, Shepard was not one to object. She bit into her tough breakfast and chewed thoughtfully. Now that the sun was up, the events of the previous night seemed a lifetime away. She could remember the urgent desire, the fear, but remember it even more far off than she remembered her dreams.

“I really am quite curious to find out what type of place this is.” Liara was gazing around at what she could see of the walls. “It would be a shame to spend so much time down here without knowing.”

“Indeed.” Shepard nodded. It was much easier to pretend like this expedition was one of discovery, and not running from whatever that was last night, but the sound was still inside her head, and the surety: That it knew where to find them, that it was coming for them - for her, specifically. And that she recognized its voice.

She busied herself with securing her pack and rechecking their rations. She would carry one lantern, and hang the other at her belt. Liara had again taken to wearing the blanket which served as her bed roll, so she could carry that, either about her shoulders or around her waist or however she pleased. She would have given up her pistol for a pair of crutches right now, but as it was she shoved the pistol into her belt and tried to move her sword to where it would not be in the way. Liara would need a lot of help.

“Are you ready?” Shepard offered her hand.

“Ready as I can be, Commander.” Liara took it, and together they lifted her to her one good foot.

“Here, lean on me,” Shepard let Liara’s right arm drape over her shoulders and slid her own beneath the woman’s shoulder blades, hesitating at the last second as to where she ought to put her hand.

“Thank you.” Liara was too concerned with elevating her injured foot to notice any hesitation, and Shepard’s hand settled on her shoulder in the end, letting Liara determine how much weight she wished to rest where.

“Are you sure you want to-”

“Yes.” Liara replied through grit teeth.

“This was a bad idea.” Shepard shifted her weight, but Liara shook her head.

“I can do this.” She insisted, and took a steadying breath. “I’ve had enough of sitting around. Nothing more can be done for my foot, and the splint is sturdy and will hold.” She had clearly put a great deal of consideration into this. Shepard nodded.

“Very well. Would you like to hold this lantern, or shall I?” It was a simple question, but after what had happened last night, the wielding of the lantern had managed to gain some weight between them. Liara’s hand closed around the handle.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course not. You came here to see the ruins, I’m just here to help you do it.”

Liara smiled and Shepard looked away, focusing on their feet, and how to go about moving them.

It took a while to find a rhythm, like walking in a three-legged race. But they managed. They made it to what Shepard had referred to as the passageway and found that it was, in fact, a sort of tunnel. Whether man made or a natural cavern, it was difficult to determine, but they shared the sense that it was not accidental in either case. The pyramid had either been built on this cavern, or this basement had been dug under the monument.

It went on far longer than Shepard had anticipated, and curved until they were not sure exactly where under the pyramid they might be. But there were no surviving branches leaving it, so it was hard to get lost.

Liara kept the lantern raised high as they made their slow progress, trying her best to focus forward instead of down. 

“How long do you think it’s been, since anyone was down here?” Shepard asked her, more to fill the silence than anything else.

“It’s hard to say. If the way we came in is the only surviving entrance, especially. Hundreds of years, perhaps? No one knows quite when people settled here, but  _ Yax Mutal  _ is well over a thousand years old. Maybe even two.” 

Shepard let out a low whistle, which echoed loudly down the chamber both behind and before them. She stopped for a moment, startled by her own noise, and laughed at herself after, as did the woman in her arms.

“What do you think this place is?”

“I’ve been wondering that myself. I’ve had several days and nights to consider it. It doesn’t seem to be a well, or a tomb. But it might stretch all the way under the great pyramid above. Perhaps it was some kind of escape route,” she gave a small laugh at the irony, sucked in a quick breath as her injured leg jostled. Shepard made a mental note that laughing may not be the best in his scenario. “The truth is, I don’t know,” Liara confessed at length and with a sigh. “A space like this could serve any number of purposes. Perhaps as a storage room, or any number of things.”

“The pyramids. They were like temples to the Mayan people?” Shepard had a theory, but did not like where it was going.

“Somewhat. Or at least we think so. They might also be burial chambers, like the pyramids of Egypt. They were holy spaces, in the midst of community.”

“But people made sacrifices.”

“Yes. Usually of grain, or of fowl of some kind, from what we can tell. There has been some record of… well… human sacrifice. But it was not nearly so common as some would have you believe.” 

Shepard merely nodded at this disturbing news. “Could this be some sort of ritual chamber? Under the pyramid?”

Liara’s brow knit. “Mayan sacrifices would have been performed around the temple, or at its summit. They would want the gods to bear witness - the sun, and the mountains, and the rain. Why would they hide them underground?”

Shepard nodded. “Perhaps…” She hardly dared speak of it, even obliquely. “Perhaps there was a different god some of them served.”  _ Perhaps some of them still do. _

Liara gave this some thought. “Perhaps…” her voice was far off and inconclusive. But within a few moments Shepard knew that silence between them would not do.

“What else do you know about this place?” Liara always seemed most comfortable when she was sharing her research, so Shepard would keep her talking.

“This was once the capital of an entire kingdom. They were prosperous, but often at war.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, there are inscriptions, all over really. We haven’t been able to translate many, but some seem to speak of different conquerors or victories. And there’s evidence that at one time or another some of the larger buildings, probably palaces, were burned down.”

Shepard nodded along. “I can’t imagine what this place must have looked like, full of people and life.” She hadn’t spent much time in the ruin where she could actually see it, but it had left quite the impression.

“Yes,” Liara’s tone seemed far away. “I suppose we’ll never really know. Not about  _ Yax Mutal  _ or Atlantis.”

“Hmm. Yes.” Shepard would definitely rather not make any more comparisons to Atlantis while they were here, underground beneath the temple of an unknown god. But she could not help asking more of the people who might have built this tunnel. “What happened to them? Why did they leave all of this behind?”

“No one really knows.” Liara’s response was less than comforting. “There are theories, of course. Overpopulation, crop failure, war… All the same threats that face modern society.” Liara sounded like she was giving a university lecture. It made Shepard smile. “Some believe that the people died, others merely that they left, refugees who fled north, either from lack of food or perhaps acts of violence, or disease.”  _ Or the cult of a blasphemous god, _ Shepard’s mind filled in, unbidden, and the smile dropped from her lips.

“And what do you think?” Shepard asked, to keep the conversation going.

“I think… I don’t know.”

The silence of Liara’s reply was as deafening as the silence of the night. Deep below the earth now, pressed in tight, neither of them wanted to give voice to the truth which they were both coming to believe: That this temple was far from dead.

Their progress down the tunnel was slow, and dark. Shepard couldn’t help but wonder what time it was, out in the world where time still seemed to exist. The tunnel was getting narrower now. It looked like a partial collapse, or perhaps just one large boulder which had settled into the previously dug route. After a brief moment of claustrophobia, there proved enough space for the women to squeeze through.

This passage was significantly longer than Shepard had first imagined. She wondered how long they had been walking, and how long it would take to get back. But there was nothing to do to press on, now that they had gotten this far.

Shepard did her best to keep up conversation, when there wasn’t anything in particular to see, and as the day wore on their dialog strayed further and further from the walls of the cavern in which they struggled to walk, and on to brighter things. Shepard inquired into Liara’s time in Oxford, and heard tales of the wonders and comforts to be found there; a world of beautiful stone spires ringing with the echoes of bells and choral song, of green parks full of flowers and sport, and of expansive libraries filled with every subject imaginable, libraries with rank upon rank of books of all shapes and sizes and languages on shelves which towered overhead and utterly surrounded you, libraries which always seemed to always have another room full of books around the corner that you didn’t know were there before.

Despite all of these charms it was also a world which had, unfortunately, done its utmost to turn young Dr. T’Soni away, on account of her sex. Shepard could not ignore the terrible irony as Liara blushed in confessing that she had for a time had to present herself as a man, on paper at least. And that when the University had found out that the published scholar ‘L. T’Soni’ was not ‘Lawrence’ but ‘Liara’, it had been a terrible battle to have any of her work, the merits of which clearly stood for themselves, accepted. Only the connections of her mother, who had not even arrived in person but had sent more than one strongly worded letter, the content of which Liara had never heard, seemed to settle the matter at length, and that neither to the satisfaction of the University nor of the young doctor. They attempted to revoke her title, and there were some who still refused to grant it. But her thesis had already been published, and Liara had washed her hands of the rest.

“I don’t know why I should be telling you all of this, Commander.” 

“Well, I did ask.” As the woman leaning on her shoulders shifted her attention back to the time and place at hand, Shepard shifted her own attention back to her feet.

“Still. Thank you for listening, Commander” Liara’s gratitude was genuine. “You are a very easy person to talk to.”

Shepard could not resist a smile. Liara was not the first woman to tell her the same. The amount of genuine surprise and joy she could bring a woman just by paying them the merest courtesy - of listening while they were speaking - was astounding. It was in most cases entirely true that they had never met a man like her.

“The pleasure is mine, doctor, I assure you.” Shepard adjusted her grip on Liara’s shoulders as the passage narrowed again. “How are you getting on?” she asked as she felt the woman in her arms stiffen and hold her breath as she did her best to step sideway after Shepard a moment.

“Good,” the archeologist lied.

“Hmm.” Shepard did not honor this with a real response, but began looking about for what she could do.

They were making very slow but rather steady progress. Wherever it was they were going. The path was rocky and difficult, and Shepard was growing more and more concerned that they might have been going in circles.

They had been walking for hours, seemed. Luckily, due to cave ins there had been little to no branches to choose from, so they were not exactly lost, just far from where they had begun. Soon, though, they came to a space where the passage widened a bit, and both came to the same conclusion at once.

“Commander would you mind if-”

“I think it’s time for a short rest, Doc-”

They both stopped, realised what the other was asking, and gave a short laugh.

“Alright, here we go then,” Shepard did her best to gently lower Liara to the ground. She had not realised how sore her own arms and legs were getting until they stopped, and could not imagine how the injured woman was faring. She looked back down the way they had come. Perhaps this had been foolish. How long had they been walking? How long would it take them to walk back?

“Perhaps some dinner,” she decided, unshouldering her pack, “or supper, as it may be”.

“That would be most appreciated.” Liara was grimacing and doing her best to stretch and elevate her leg.

“Here.” Shepard sat down next to her. After retrieving their food, she helped prop Liara’s leg up on her bag. They really were quite the sight, she thought. Two women, both in trousers, dirty and tired from their time trapped underground, one of them injured and the other terrified of the dark.

They sat in appreciative silence for a moment as each realized how startlingly hungry they had been, and how very good a simple meal of dried beef, ship biscuit, and water could be.

The silence was different here. No trace could be heard of the jungle animals outside. No alien birds, no insects, no wind in the far off trees. There was not even much sound of water here, as Shepard was used to in caves. Instead, every sound they heard was created either by Liara or herself, or by the far off echoes of their previous speech and motion. This had of course been the case for most of the day, but it was still curious. Far off echoes, resonant and repeating, reflected back sound from another time. Her own voice spoke to her from the corners of the room, and Liara’s surrounded her.

Even so, it was not the oppressive, disturbing silence of a few nights prior, and for this Shepard was grateful. It was merely a silence of their own creation, free to be broken without fear.

“So.” Shepard was the first to break the quiet, once hunger and thirst were sated and the ease of the day had come. She, like Liara, sat against the corner of the wall with her legs stretched out before her across the rough stone. It was surprisingly comfortable. “What have we learned from all of this?”

“Well,” Liara adjusted her broken glasses, even though very little could be seen in the light of the lantern they had brought. They would need to switch to the other lantern soon, the oil was just about gone. “Mostly that whatever this place is, it is far larger than I previously thought.”

“And far more caved in,” Shepard added.

“Yes. But the air has not gone completely stale, yet. Which is a very good sign indeed.”

Shepard raised her eyebrows at this. She had not noticed. She had not even known to notice. She thought, not for the first time, that Liara must have been one of the better people on earth to be stuck in an ancient cave with. She wondered what other scrapes the archaeologist had seen. Archeology as a whole, she had been told, was mostly practised in museums, libraries, and open dig sites, like small quarries. But something about Dr. T’Soni made Shepard feel that this was not the first time she had crossed an unmarked jungle veritably alone to find some interesting architecture.

“Does that mean there could be more than one entrance to this place? And exit, perhaps?”

“Perhaps. Although it may be just as inaccessible.”

“Well,” Shepard raised her canteen in a toast. “Here’s to hoping.”

“Indeed.” Liara mimicked her motion, and drank.

Silence returned, and one question hung in Shepard’s mind: Now what?

“How far do you think we’ve come?” Liara asked, looking into the darkness they had walked through.

“Hard to say,” Shepard gave a sigh. Numbers and estimations flew in her head, but she had nothing but dead reckoning to go on, for speed, time, and distance, all three. They could have gone as much as twenty kilometers, and she would not have known. She highly doubted this number - ten or less was a better guess, given Liara’s injury - but it certainly felt like it. She shared these musings with the doctor.

“Perhaps we are not underneath the third temple after all. We could have crossed the entire site by now, by such a reckoning.”

“Third?”

“Yes. There are several temples here, so I started giving them numbers. Not entirely descriptive, I know. The third temple is the one near which we set up camp. There are five in total, at least.”

“I see.”

“I wonder how many of these tunnels there are, or were. Or which way we’ve even been walking…”

“It’s as hard to tell up from down as it is left and right in this place. I am… sorry to have dragged you into this, Dr. T’Soni. With my men doubtless on their way back, I am sure we ought to return. And without much to show for it but exercise.”

“It’s quite alright, Commander. We’ve uncovered yet another mystery. These tunnels were clearly man-made. And maybe one day, we’ll know why.”

Shepard’s gut responded first with a shuddering certainty that she did not want to know. She repressed this with a smile. “Always the optimist. I’m sure if anyone could lead us to the truth of the matter, you could, Doctor.”

In the low light, Shepard might have been imagining that this compliment made the good doctor blush. Whatever the case, she did not immediately answer. There was silence again for a moment. It was cold here. Liara fiddled with the hem of the bed roll she was still wearing, not as a shawl now but folded and tied over her shoulder her as a soldier would carry it. 

Shepard was starting to get restless, but found herself too tired to get up. The thought of walking further, or even beginning the walk back, weighed heavy.

“Perhaps we ought to rest here for a bit?” Liara gave voice to exactly what was on her mind.

“That would probably be best. There’s nothing to say that it is night outside these walls, but there is nothing to say it isn’t. And I dare say we could use the rest, before we head back.”

Shepard stood up slowly and with an achy groan. She stretched and rolled her shoulders. It was so dark down here, it would be difficult to make camp. But she did still have that tinderbox, and the wood her men had sent down. It was going to be a cold night, or cold… whatever time it was.

“May I?” she helped Liara move her leg from atop their bag of supplies. “How is it feeling?” She asked as she began her work.

Whatever fear that had stopped them from building a fire before seemed foolish and far off. Even so, Shepard looked to Liara in the dying lamp light to make sure the archeologist had no protest.

“Swollen.” Liara answered uncomfortably, “But the splint is holding.” Liara made no comment about the fire, but she did her best to make herself useful, sorting out the kindling from the larger pieces of wood in the small bundle they had. It would not be enough to last a night, or even more than a few hours. But a few hours rest and warmth were a welcome thought.

As soon as her flint sparked the kindling, Shepard felt herself let go a sigh of relief she did not even know she was holding. With even the smallest of flames, the entire space lit up like daylight. It almost hurt. Soon, with a little encouragement, the small fire was giving off a comforting glow. They would need to ration the wood, which was fine, since too big a fire would cause an excess of smoke as well. Shepard helped Liara lay out the bedroll she had brought, and the two settled down on either side of their tiny campfire. 

This time Shepard insisted that Liara keep her jacket. It looked rather fetching on her, despite being in dire need of launder. She thought of what Liara had said before, in bashful tones, about letting people assume she was a man at University, and about her apparent willingness to don trousers when she was at work. Never before had the irony of her own secret been so painful. She let her mind wander to what it would be like to tell Liara - here, now. It might even become a secret joke between them. All of the other women aboard the Normandy knew. And she did not wish to waste time keeping Liara at arm’s length, as she had with Ashley. It was not even, she told herself, because Liara was particularly attractive, which she was, or that she held any hope of a future together with the young woman, which she didn’t. Liara was just so… She did not know what. And she was interested in Shepard’s life, too. She wanted to tell her everything; to share everything, and reveal how much they had in common.

But of course there was a chance that Liara could be utterly horrified by the news. First by Shepard’s disregard for the laws of polite society, a decades long transgression of the same kind which Liara mentioned only in hushed, ashamed tones. And second by how she had maintained the lie before Liara for so long, after the sort of conversations they had had. She did not, as she usually did, fear that if she were discovered her secret might be exposed to the wide world. But it might drive a wedge between them. And that would not, could not do. Liara might even think less of her as a Commander, having gained the title with some deceit. She might even change her mind about coming along. And with no island to show for her troubles, Shepard felt that Liara had enough excuse to bid her adieu as it was. She could not endanger this mission.

Across the fire, Liara was watching the flames and the smoke quite carefully, and looking about at the small room. 

It was, very clearly, a room. A room with two exits and four straight, square walls. It was perhaps two meters square total. There didn’t appear to be anything more notable than that about it, but she was sure the archeologist’s eye was keener than her own.

“Look at that,” Liara broke the silence at length, pointing, fascinated.

“Hmm?” Shepard shook her wandering thoughts from her head.

Liara was pointing up, towards the smoke. Shepard watched it for some time, trying to make sense of the hazy swirls in the low light, looking for any pattern. What she found at length was a sort of lazy river, flowing not only out of both of the entrances to this room, but to the wall of the far side from them.

Shepard’s brow knit. This room did not appear to be a caved-in tunnel, but it was acting like it. “Hold on,” she had not been sitting down but half an hour after a day’s walk, and now stood achily to her feet. She took up the largest branch from the fire as a kind of makeshift torch.

As she brought the small flame closer, Shepard watched to see if it would move, if there was any faint draft coming from somewhere. She felt about with her fingers, watching the smoke, until she found what might have been a seam.

This time, at least, there was a reason to expect such a straight, man-made line in the stone. Shepard traced it, running from top to bottom, in the centre of the wall.

“What do you see?” Liara strained to sit up straighter and move closer from her position on the ground.

“Come, doctor, look at this.” Shepard stooped to help lift Liara up, and together they examined the narrow fissure.

“Hold on.” Liara fiddled awkwardly for a moment in the pocket of her trousers, and soon was holding a small horsehair brush which looked like it had seen many a digsite. Shepard’s brow creased only for a moment. Where had she even gotten that?

“Always prepared,” was her only comment.

“Yes,” Liara was completely distracted by her work.

With a few practised strokes, Liara began to clear off the dirt. She and Shepard watched as what could not be mistaken for anything but intentionally carved lines began to appear before them.

“These are… old.” Liara gasped, although they were both already well aware. “They aren’t like the others I’ve seen up above.”

As Shepard stood, still helping prop Liara up, and stared at the individual lines as they were revealed, she could feel dread begin to pool in her stomach. With every sweep of the archaeologist’s brush, another ounce of bile seemed to find its way to her gut. A chill ran over her, and she could not tear her eyes away as more was revealed.

The sigils were complex. Some appeared linguistic, others pictorial, and all dreadfully familiar.

They needed to leave.

“I wonder what it says? It might be a new language altogether!” Liara’s tone was nearly giddy. An archeologist with a new mystery on her hands. But before she even had time to ponder her own question, Shepard answered.

“ _ From the stars”  _ she read.

“What?” Liara turned as best she could, while still leaning on her.

“That’s what it says. ‘ _ From the stars’. _ ”

Liara was speechless a moment, her mouth hanging open and her brow pinched. “Commander, this…” The whole situation was too absurd to be offended by the tone in which Liara began to speak, slow and halting, as if to a child. “This is…”

“Don’t ask me how I know,” Shepard interrupted, her voice flat. She could see that the letters were not of any tongue in which she had ever been trained. “But that’s what they say.”

Liara nodded mutely. She turned back to the runes, studied them, and wiped off a few more.They were not in straight, flat lines as of text, but seemed added by different hands and at different times. And all were shapes inparsible even to Shepard’s conscious mind. Nevertheless,

“ _ From the depths”  _ She knew the words to be true. Even if she could not read them with her eyes, their meaning came spilling from her mind. Liara must think she was quite mad by now. God knew that Shepard thought it of herself.

Liara eyed Shepard again. “Commander I think you-”

“Hold on, there is one more” Shepard did not know why she interrupted this time, but something about this speech needed to be completed. It was not finished, she could not leave it as it was. Liara obliged, and Shepard bent down to help her reach the last passage.

“ _ From the darkness”  _ she traced her fingers over the glyphs.

The wall moved, and the following moments were a blur. Liara stepped back so quickly Shepard failed to catch her before she landed on her broken leg. With a shocked scream, the archeologist crumpled to the floor.

“Dr. T’Soni!” Shepard followed her down, dropping to her knees as time seemed to slow. 

The noise of scraping, grinding stone filled the small space with an echo far greater than the tiny passage, a sound Shepard could feel through the floor.  _ An earthquake  _ her stomach dropped at the realization. On instinct she threw herself forward and did her best to prop and brace herself over the injured woman beside her, as if it would save either of them if the ceiling came crashing down.

Shepard saw movement from the corner of her eye and against her better judgement she glanced up. The stone walls of the small chamber were still lit in a warm yellow glow of the wavering fire, but the two caverns of darkness - the way they had come in, and the room’s only other exit, were rapidly shrinking, as other walls of stone took their place.

She heard Liara gasp and looked down, following the young woman’s gaze not, as Shepard expected, to her injured leg, but beyond it. Her moment of utter panic past, Shepard allowed herself to turn around and watched as the stone wall behind her retreated from view, pulling back to the left and right, sliding away into the walls.

The gravely noise finally came to a halt, and both explorers sat in open mouthed awe. Before them opened a large chamber, faintly lit in silver moonlight.


	17. The Stars, the Depths, the Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Violence

“I apologize, Dr. T’Soni. Are you hurt?” It was a foolish question. She was more than obviously hurt.

“What is this place?” Liara did not answer. “How did… How did you…?”

Shepard gave no answer, just shook her head. They were both still on the ground; Liara where she had fallen, and Shepard now beside her, no longer braced for the ceiling to fall. For a few moments they waited. They waited until their heart rates had slowed, and the silence returned. Shepard waited to see if it would all reverse, or if it was all another vision. Was this nothing more than how these caverns appeared long, long ago? It was hard to tell. Her eyes darted around, taking in every detail of their surroundings as rapidly as she could. The small fire was still behind them, her pack of supplies as well. Her makeshift torch lay, now merely a stick edged in embers, where she had dropped it on the ground. More importantly, however, their exit had been cut off. There seemed no way back to the well now - no way back to the only place her crew knew to look for them. There was only forward.

The room which now opened before them was wide and tall, and at its zenith shone a glorious glimpse of moonlight. Shepard could not see the portal out to the surface world from here, but by its light she could see that this room was not like the well she and the good doctor had fallen into. Far from the caved in, unremarkable space where they had spent the previous few days, this room was clearly man-made. Every inch of it seemed covered in the mark of human hands: Carvings, designs, mosaics even. Shepard looked over at her companion and was not surprised to see Liara on the verge of tears. Whether it was from the wonder before them or from the pressure she had placed on her broken leg, Shepard understood.

“Let’s get a closer look,” the Commander broke the silence at last.

Before they left, Shepard bound together the rest of their firewood, wrapped in a strip of cloth torn from the hem of her trousers, and made a decent torch. The oil in their lamps was waning, and it would do for now. She stamped out the rest of the fire and shouldered her bag again. With every action, Shepard kept glancing back into the large, shadowed room beside her. And the darkness, it seemed, watched her back in turn. 

It took some effort, but soon she and Dr. T’Soni resumed the position in which they had already spent most of the day, with the archeologist leaning heavily on the Commander’s shoulders. Liara held the torch aloft, and Shepard helped her take careful steps down into the chamber.

The first thing they stopped to investigate was the door itself - what hidden mechanism lay behind it, or within, could not be seen. But Liara told her that such mechanisms were not unheard of. Neither were traps, or pressure plates. “But I’ve never heard of one activated by a word.”

“Hmm.” Shepard’s brow knit, and she merely nodded. “I did touch the wall as well. Maybe I pressed it?” Her thoughts were drawn to the pillar on Atlantis, which at her touch transported her to another world.

“I’m not sure. But… how did you read those glyphs, Commander?”

“Ah.” Shepard knew it would come to this. “I must be honest with you, Doctor. I… am not entirely sure. I didn’t know I could.”

“What? But… And last night, you…” They were still taking careful, small steps down the slope which led to the center of the chamber. Shepard’s eyes danced over the carvings beneath their feet. It was more of the ancient symbols she had seen on Atlantis. Their meaning, if they had a meaning, jumbled in her mind, and she had to look away.

“I apologize, Dr. T’Soni.” She stopped. They were near the middle of the room now, and it echoed around them. “I confess, I have not told you the entire story of my time in Atlantis.”

“What?” Liara was struggling to focus, first on the world class archeological discovery they had stumbled upon, and also on Shepard’s halting and cryptic words. So Shepard chose a focus for her.

“What can you tell me about these carvings, Doctor?” 

“Oh. Well…” By the dim light of their torch and the dimmer light of the moon, Liara did her pest to inspect the area. All of the carvings seemed to circle around one space, but there was nothing there. While she looked, Shepard did her own inspection of the room. By the moonlight she spotted what looked like two different exits to the space, besides the one through which they had entered. They were narrow, and shadowed, and may have just been fissures in the rock, but they stood out enough that she kept an eye on them.

“Some of these carvings I recognize. These, here,” Liara motioned, “Seem to be made by the same people who made the pyramids above. This one might be a name. But others, like this, look more like the ones you read off the wall. If they have any relation, this could be even more of an important find than I ever could have hoped! This could be the key to translating an entirely new language! But tell me, Commander. You’ve seen these before. On this Island, you said, on Atlantis?”

Liara was well beyond interested and was nearing ecstatic. The implications of her question were clear enough for even Shepard to understand. If Liara was looking to prove the relation of different ancient cultures to Atlantis, and found evidence of an actual shared language, nothing else would serve to better confirm her proposition.

“Yes, I…” Shepard trailed off, her eyes focused on one of the doorways. She squinted into the dark and tried to force her eyes to ignore the torchlight. Was that…?

Shepard’s hand gripped tense on Liara’s shoulder. “Commander?” 

“We need to leave.”

Liara blinked at her, and looked around, eyes following Shepard’s own. “What…?”

Shepard’s gaze narrowed to a pinpoint as she dared the motion she sensed in the doorway to repeat itself. Perhaps she was merely paranoid. Who or what could be all the way down here?

A cloud must have passed before the moon then, for the already dark room grew somewhat darker. The torch in Shepard’s hands felt like a veritable beacon for whatever might lay in the dark.

“Commander,” Liara’s grip on her shoulders shifted and Shepard was pulled out of her staring contest with the shadows. “Are you alright?”

“I…” Shepard was saved from having to answer, as the unmistakable sound of stone grinding on stone met their ears again. A faint yellow glow appeared in what Shepard had correctly guessed to be an exit, or in this case, an entrance.

A million thoughts flew through Shepard’s mind in that moment, vying to conjure up visions of who or what it could be. But the overwhelming force which hit her was the instinct and visceral desire to hide.

“Someone is coming! Perhaps they can help-” The hope in Liara’s voice was lost in Shepard’s ears.

They were coming. _ It _was coming. For her.

A rapid glance around the room revealed two options; what might have been a door, and a large slab of rock which must have fallen centuries back in a cave in. As the former might just as easily prove another entrance for whatever was nearing as an exit for themselves, Shepard’s gut drove her to dive for what cover she could find.

“Com-!”

“Shh.” Shepard’s urgent plea was enough to silence the scholar even as Shepard all but lifted her up in a short sprint for the hiding space. The Commander dashed her own torch down on the rocks next and stamped it out, before drawing Liara down to the floor with her. She crouched next to the stone and Liara leaned against it.

“Commander what-?” Liara’s distressed expression froze with her words as another voice filled the echoing hall.

This time, Shepard did not understand the words that they said. It was a man’s voice, or seemed to be, one which spoke quickly and with purpose. Spanish, she thought, or perhaps Portugeese. Shepard held absolute silence, listening in a vain attempt to enumerate the crowd by the sound of their feet. The group came to a stop before she could get an estimate.

She felt Liara wordlessly grip her sleeve in silent concern.

“I apologize, Dr. T’Soni.” Shepard’s voice was nearly inaudible, speaking as much to herself as to her companion. “I wished to spare you this.” The man was speaking again, his voice echoing all around them.

“He says…” Liara pressed a close, quiet whisper to her ear. “That he is thankful so many of the faithful remain.” Shepard’s brow knit a moment before she remembered that Liara was familiar with more than a dozen tongues of men. “That their great work is… it progresses. Towards a glorious conclusion.” Liara’s translations stuttered as they both listened, leaning close to the stone slab which separated them from the speakers and their torchlight. “Stronger he grows, day by day, night by night, tide by tide… The stars… shall align...and…” Shepard could practically feel Liara’s brow knit tighter as the man’s monologue changed in tone and tongue.

“Our rightful sovereign shall awake. And the true gods shall arise with him.” Shepard translated for her this time. “From the stars. From the depths. From the Darkness.” This was a chant which repeated, echoed by what might have been a full dozen voices. Despite their ominous words, the panic in Shepard’s mind was clearing as she began to puzzle out what they could do.

“Commander, who are these men?” Liara demanded in a curt whisper.

“A cult.” Shepard whispered back. “I’ve met them once before. On Atlantis.”

Whatever wide eyed, speechless response this elicited, Shepard did not see. She could explain this later. She needed to figure out what to do next. She braved peering over the block they hid behind.

Before her what might have been ten figures stood in a rough circle, only one torch between them. By its light, however, Shepard could see much. She did not know how she expected these chanting men to look. Perhaps she expected natives of this land, decked in tribal paint and exotic clothes, remnants of an ancient Mayan culture, lost to the world but still living hidden in this jungle. Or perhaps somehow she expected natives of Atlantis itself; the same she had witnessed before. What she saw instead was much more disturbing than either of these. It was a group of otherwise ordinary looking men. They might have been farmers, or soldiers, or merchants, even. Some looked quite wealthy and others poor. The one who seemed to be leading them, the one talking, was shirtless, and the one thing which appeared to unite them - for they were not all even of the same race, it appeared - was that they had all dressed for a trek through the hot and humid jungle. They were ordinary people. Shepard blinked a few times, as if this might clear things up.

The man continued speaking, and Liara tugged at Shepard’s sleeve again.

“He says that their rituals near an end. The heavens align. Ever closer to the… the final… completion. Fulfilment. The gods will… free… and mankind… something about joy, I think. And knowledge. All mankind will know… I’m sorry, Commander. This is a very odd dialect.” Shepard merely nodded, and Liara continued, as did the man on the other side of the wall. “Tonight ...our devotion, that we might… attain…”

As Liara puzzled over a few words Shepard silently pressed herself up again to look at what was going on.

_ Shit _.

She knew at once what they were doing. The thought itself was abominable, an atrocity from, as Lord Chancellor Udina had put it, an old wives’ tale. Had she not already witnessed one such rite, she would never have guessed their intent. But as she had, the wretched procedure was clear. Two more figures had joined the group of ten while the man spoke. One bore a torch and the other appeared bound, with his hands tied before him. He was slight, and wore the most distinct garb he could: a dirty grey habit. Shepard mentally cursed again. They were about to kill that man. And a priest, no less. They would kill him and summon up something terrible.

Shepard knew she had to work fast. They had to stop this. Not only because a man’s life hung in the balance, but because whatever affects the cultist wished to gain from his death, she wished to prevent. She glanced back to the other shadowed exit and back at the crowd again. It was a risk. A big risk. But it was that, or let this man die, and let yet another nightmare be brought upon the world. Despoina and her followers would not burst in to save them this time.

_ Damn. _

She sunk down next to Liara once more. Was she really about to do this?

“What do you mean _ Atlantis _? You said-” Liara’s baffled voice came to her again.

“Dr. T’Soni.” Shepard closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. “I swear to you, I will explain everything, in time. On my honor, I will. But right now…”

Just then Shepard realised that the light in the room was waning again. Her brow knit, and she pressed herself up to look out.

_ Oh you have got to be kidding me _.

The cavern was dark. The moonlight was gone. And what were the odds, for the second time? Perhaps what the cultists said had some weight: the stars were aligning. From what Shepard could tell, it was another lunar eclipse.

One by one the cultist’s torches were extinguished, and in the dark their terrible chant arose:

_ hup yogfm'll, hup mgepogg, hup n'ghft, _

_ hup yogfm'll, hup mgepogg, hup n'ghft, _

Shepard could feel the words tunnel through the back of her mind, pulsing through her skull. _ From the stars, from the depths, from the darkness. _

“Do you trust me?” Shepard’s voice was quiet but it felt like shouting over the drumming in her head. Her hand found Liara’s shoulder in the dark.

For half a moment, only the terrible chant remained.

“Yes.”

Shepard did not have time to revel in the light this brought her.

“I am about to do something incredibly foolish, and we will have to run. A man’s life hangs in the balance,” she continued to push her words through the torrential noise, leaning close so her companion could hear.

“I understand.”

“May I carry you?” They were running out of time.

Shepard felt more than heard Liara’s response, and soon the woman was again in her arms, holding tight about her shoulders. Shepard did her best to support the slender archeologist on her left arm. She would need her right to-

“Cover your ears.” Shepard instructed, and did not wait to see if she had been obeyed.

_ BANG _

With a tremendous crash of of terrible thunder and a flash like lightning in the dark, Shepard’s pistol went off. The cacophony of malformed voices was brought to an abrupt halt. And with any luck, one of their number fell down dead.

What happened next was chaos. Shouts and screams surrounded her as Shepard burst into the occult circle and tried to find the captive friar in the dark. “To me, Father!” She called, and heard Liara echo her in Spanish. She could only hope that the good _ Padre _could hear and obey.

Her hope died, however, as the sickening noise of blade in flesh, of ripping cloth, and a muffled choke of death met her ears.


	18. A Man of the Cloth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I may, I want to dedicate this chapter to The Mechanisms - one of my favorite bands - who posted their final album on Bandcamp today. I have a lot of emotions about it, and about the fact I wasn't ever able to attend one of their live shows. Their album, _The Bifrost Incident_, was what first got me into Lovecraft and has served as a huge inspiration for this story. If you want to know what the ritual chanting on Atlantis sounded like back in chapter 3, look up their song "Red Signal". Check them out at themechanisms(dot)bandcamp(dot)com.

Shepard cursed. She had not stopped them. She had failed. Again. The poor priest was dead, and the ritual complete. Now all that mattered was that they had to get out. Whatever blasphemy might be summoned, she did not wish to stay and discover it this time.

Although she could no longer hear it, even as Shepard turned to dash out of the room, the haunting echo of earlier chanting rang like a tumbling church bell in her head: _ hup yogfm'll, hup mgepogg, hup n'ghft. _From the stars, from the depths, from the darkness. It was coming.

Liara held on tight as Shepard sprinted from the hall, fumbling in the dark towards the doorway. It was a miracle they found it at all, but now was no time for wonder. All that mattered was escape. _ Get out, get out, get out. _ Shepard ran into the dark, praying that she would not trip or come to a dead end. 

But then, Shepard never did have very good luck, on land or at sea.

She all but slammed into a wall in the dark, and felt Dr. T’Soni stiffen in her arms at the terrible jostling her broken leg was doubtlessly being subjected to, but Liara made no complaint. Shepard felt along the corridor. The way certainly seemed to be blocked.

“Let me get the lantern,” Liara offered.

“No.” Shepard could hear little but her own heart pumping in her ears. But now that her racing footfalls had stilled, she heard another set behind her. “Not yet,” she clarified. “On my signal.”

Shepard threw her spent pistol aside and drew her blade as best she could with Liara still in her arms, and the Doctor readied to obey her command. The footsteps were getting nearer now. There seemed to only be one. And, Shepard’s mind could not help supplying, he seemed human. As opposed to what, even Shepard did not know.

In the undercroft in Atlantis, two weapons had prevailed; her sword, and her lantern. Backed now into a corner, Shepard prepared to unleash both on their dread pursuer.

“Now!” She shouted, as the man rounded the final bend.

Light flooded the chamber, and the man stopped short at the sight of Shepard’s raised blade.

His simple brown habit appeared stained in blood.

Liara gasped and Shepard took a step back at the sight of the priest, and when he raised his hands, which were still bound, in surrender, she lowered her sword.

“Were you followed?”

“Are you hurt?” Shepard and Liara asked at once, one in English and the other in Spanish. The man shook his head, but Shepard did not know to which question, nor could she stop to ponder or ask, her mind held captive by the danger at hand. She turned to the wall behind her, hoping in the light to see a new escape. No matter what the _ Padre _said, the cult must be right behind them. The cult and whatever they had summoned.

The wall she had run into now appeared less a wall and more a boulder, dropped by a cave-in. Perhaps there was a way over, or around.

As she frantically looked for a way forward, for any escape, a warm hand found her shoulder. “Be still. They are gone.”

Shepard turned around, mouth already open to chastise the foolish minister, but as she did she noticed at last. There were no more footsteps. No more chanted words. And the terrible voice, the horrendous pressure of that _ thing _was not in her head.

“How do you…” Shepard stopped, and for a moment the silence held only the heavy breaths of the three survivors.

“Are you injured, Father?” Liara asked again, in English this time. Shepard looked up and wordlessly moved the archeologist down, to let her stand - or stand as best she could - on the ground.

“I am unharmed,” the man replied. “This is not my blood you see. And it’s Brother, actually. Brother Krios. Or you may call me Thane. Thank you for coming to my aide,” his voice held utter peace.

Thane appeared to be of Spanish descent, with dark hair cropped short and tonsured in a way that made him look as if he might have stepped out of a medieval painting. He was very slim, gaunt even, and some years older than them, or appeared so, though that could have just been what a lifetime of hard work had done to his weathered face and hands. His eyes were a sharp, piercing green, and his voice deeper than befit his rather skinny frame. 

Shepard was not entirely sure that she understood. But she still had one priority. “Don’t thank us yet, Friar,” She replied. “Not until we get out of here, anyway. Here,” she used her sword to quickly undo the ropes which held him.

“Perhaps the way the others came in?” The monk gestured back the way they had both run, and Shepard eyed him a moment in suspicion. If he noticed, he gave no sign, but began walking back the way they came, leaving Shepard and Liara no choice but to follow.

“You are sure they are gone?”

“Quite sure, Mr…?”

“Shepard. Commander James Shepard of the _ HMS Normandy _.” In lieu of shaking hands, Shepard at last sheathed her sword.

“And Miss…?”

“Doctor,” Shepard found herself correcting, without being asked, and hoped neither of them could see her blush. “This is Doctor Liara T’Soni, archeologist.”

“Pleased to meet you, Friar. You must excuse my appearance. The Commander and I have been stranded in these tunnels for some days.” Even as they walked, Liara was somewhere in between leaning on Shepard’s shoulders and hiding herself behind her, and pulled Shepard’s jacket a bit tighter about her, but smiled.

“Be not ashamed, Doctor,” Brother Krios returned her smile. “‘For the Lord God hath not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and sound mind,’” he quoted from memory. Shepard nearly laughed. It took a lot to speak of sound mind in a place like this. “Are you injured?” Krios went on.

“My leg.”

“If I may, I could take a look at it, once we reach sunlight.” Sunlight. Shepard felt she had nearly forgotten it, even though it had not been a full day since they set off.

“Thank you, Friar. The Commander’s splint has been holding well.”

It was with this strange, mundane small talk that the three re-entered the larger ritual chamber. It felt wrong, somehow, but Shepard found herself genuinely less afraid. Even of the blasphemous carvings on the floor and walls. 

“I apologize for the unpleasantness, Doctor,” Krios came to stop in front of them, and Shepard saw that what he blocked from view was the body of a man, dead on the floor. “If you will excuse me, I would like to provide what rites I can. It might be best to leave them buried in this place.”

Shepard and Liara exchanged a confused glance.

“What happened here?” Shepard gave voice to what they both wondered.

“I was not always a man of the cloth,” came Krios’ cryptic reply. “These men took me from a mission nearby, threatening to kill innocents unless I left with them. So I allowed myself to be bound and brought here, and prayed to God for an opportunity for escape. And by His providence, Commander, you arrived just in time.”

Shepard nodded, but not in understanding. “I only fired one shot.” She answered at last.

“And one moment of confusion was all I needed. These were simple men, not soldiers. It is a pity, really.” He knelt next to one. “May God have mercy on your soul. And may God have mercy on my own.”

“You did this?” Shepard asked, looking around in the dim light. “Alone? In the dark? And bound?” She felt Liara’s grip on her shoulder tighten as they looked around in the dim lamp light. There must have been a dozen bodies.

Thane looked up from where he was kneeling, and merely nodded.

Shepard had no reply. She and Liara exchanged another glance. They spoke no words. Thane, however, heard their meaning regardless.

“I assure you I am no threat to you, Commander, or to you, Doctor. Unless you intend to join the Cult of…” He hesitated, and looked around. “Perhaps it is best not to name an Old One in the midst of his hall, with blood upon the ground.”

“Perhaps not.” Shepard felt that she had gone quite white.

“You know of this… cult?” Liara was doing her best to understand the rapidly developing situation, but was at a severe disadvantage. Krios hesitated in his response.

“You’ve encountered them before.” Shepard added. It was not a question.

“As have you.”

“You knew what they intended.”

Thane had moved to the next man’s corpse, and said another quiet prayer for mercy for both the fallen and himself. “I know what they believe,” he replied. “And that they are not alone. But please, excuse me a moment.” He found a lantern on the ground and lit it, to aid his grim work.

Shepard opened her mouth to ask another question, but let it die on her lips, stepping away to give the Friar some space.

Liara shifted against her. The young scholar’s arm was still draped over her shoulder. “Commander…” she started, but seemed at a loss for what to ask, leaving her bewilderment hanging heavy in the air between them.

Shepard took a deep breath as they stepped away from the dead cultists and their mysterious new friend. Her heart was still pounding from the chase. It was too much, too fast. And, she remembered, the poor woman in her arms knew almost none of it. “I owe you a great deal of explanation, Doctor,” she offered, as they stepped away.

“I should say so, Commander.” Shepard could read nothing in the tone of Liara’s response save exhaustion.

“I apologize. Before we go on, you ought to know the full story of what happened on that island, on Atlantis.” Shepard could feel herself becoming somewhat shaky and took a deep steadying breath. “Will you sit with me a moment?”

Liara nodded and they returned to the rock behind which they had taken refuge before. Shepard helped lower Liara to the ground, where she stretched and massaged her splinted leg, and the Commander floundered nervously, searching for anything to do with her hands. She settled for joining the Doctor on the cold floor, and fiddled with a few loose pebbles there.

“I didn’t call the island we found Atlantis merely because it rose from the sea. We - that is, General Arterius and myself - we found something there, on the island, in the ruins of the temple. We made our way down into what was once an undercroft and found a sort of pillar, covered in carvings. Carvings like these.” Her fingers found the lines etched in the floor. “I could not read them any more than you, but when we touched the pillar…” Despite having rehearsed this story seven times before the magistrates, Shepard felt it sticking like a lump in her throat. “We saw Atlantis.”

Liara looked interested yet perplexed, so Shepard continued at once.

“It was a… dream. A vision of some sort. As though we had been transported - not through space, but through time. To when the temple was not a pile of ruin, but stood tall. We made our way out of the restored undercroft to see a city, the likes of which…” Shepard’s voice trailed off as she stared into the flames.

Liara’s eyes were wide as saucers now. It was hard to tell fascination from concern, but by now Shepard’s own excitement had caught up with her.

“It was the island, the same island. But it was alive. An entire civilization,” she marvelled. “And even the sky it… I wish you could have seen it. I don’t think I could describe it well enough.”

Shepard did her best, closing her eyes and trying to bring herself back to that space; to block out her current surroundings, dank and dark, and remember the light, the sound, the colors of Atlantis. Smells of spices she had never heard of, phrases from a language she did not know, structures made of she knew not what, tall and sturdy, bright tapestries hung in the wind. Liara would want to know everything, and Shepard tried to expand as much as she could on what she saw before everything went wrong.

When she opened her eyes, she found Liara staring, eyes wide behind her cracked spectacles, mouth agape in a thousand unvoiced questions. 

“Next, however, we met the cult.” Shepard told of the macabre parade they had witnessed, and the terrible ritual which followed. She spared no detail this time. “I still do not know how it is that I can read these runes, or understand their voices. But it is how I knew they meant Brother Krios mortal harm. I am certain that this cult and the one I saw are the same. When I was there I tried to interrupt their ritual, and I was able for a moment, but ultimately failed. What happened next was…” Shepard could not help but shudder.

“It’s alright, Commander.” Liara’s hand found her forearm in a comforting grasp. 

It was very far from alright. Shepard took another deep breath, in and out.

“I do not know who the cult are, but I know what they want. And I know they must be stopped. The ritual I witnessed, they called upon some dark god and it… answered them. There was… some… _ thing _. There. In the dark. Summoned by the ritual. It… I… It spoke to me. In my mind. I could feel it. It told me…” Shepard’s story was beginning to break down. 

“Perhaps,” the voice of Brother Krios broke into her tale as he joined them again. “Perhaps it is best not to tell such stories here, now,” he reminded her again.

“No.” Shepard’s determination returned. “I have used that excuse three days now, and Dr. T’Soni deserves to know the full truth before we go another step.” She launched back into her tale before anyone could stop her again. “In the vision someone came, a woman. She spoke, and I understood. I don’t know how. She saw me, and summoned me to fight in the name of Atlantis. She spoke against the demon, and broke down the pilliar, the centerpiece of this place, the same which I found broken on the island. It was as if that single pillar held not only the weight of the entire structure, but of the sky itself. Even though I had seen naught above us, soon water came to flood the space, tearing apart the temple, not as rain but as in the mightiest of waterfalls, breaking stone before them. We rushed out and saw the sky, which seemed to tear in two.” Shepard’s mind was racing again, her breath failing as words piled upon one another and spilled out. “It was…”

“‘And it came to pass...’” Thane’s voice interrupted again, deep, calm, and intellectual. “‘that all the fountains of the great deep were broken up, and the windows of heaven were opened. And the rain was upon the earth forty days and forty nights. And the waters prevailed, and were increased greatly upon the earth; and the ark went upon the face of the waters.’”

Shepard stopped a moment and stared. “Yes. Yes, something like that.” In all her research, she knew that the loss of Atlantis and the Biblical story of Noah surviving the world-flood were often linked, but it seemed strange, now, to consider she may have bourne first-hand witness to that which sparked centuries of theological debate. Thane, for his part, seemed fascinated yet somehow unsurprised as he took her story in.

“Before the water could reach us the woman - her name was Despoina - she spoke to me, she said,” Shepard did not think she could ever forget a moment of that night, but these words were somehow especially difficult. “She told me that the Cult has always existed, and it always will. But so has the Resistance.”

“She spoke true.” Brother Krios interrupted again. Shepard fixed him with a confused look a moment, but Krios would have to keep his cryptic knowledge for now. “I apologize, what else did she say?”

Shepard nodded. “She said that the imprisonment will not last, and that I was brought there - to Atlantis - so that I might understand. She said to stop them, at any cost.”

Now that the words about her being brought there for a reason were out of her mouth, Shepard realised for the first time how foolish they must sound. Why everyone in London had dismissed her. It was perhaps a small miracle she had not been condemned as utterly mad. And now, with her apparent and new ability to read the very words and symbols her mind rebelled against. It was too much. Too much for her and, she had to assume, for Dr. T’Soni. But it was true. And the presence of the cult, here and now, only reassured her in this.

She looked between her companions. Thane’s expression was contemplative. God knew what he thought of her, spouting off about maleficent gods and magic summons. But for now he merely nodded.

Liara on the other hand looked utterly lost, and lost for words.

“I am sorry I did not tell you before, Dr. T’Soni. I meant no deceit, I…” Shepard found she could not yet withstand silence between them. She stammered out more words, looking anywhere other than Liara. “I did not wish to-to…”

At last and with a sigh Shepard gave up and held her peace. Her wild feigning at the mark stilled, and waited for Liara’s riposte.

“You… saw it?” Liara’s voice was calm, curious, and quiet.

“I… yes. In a… vision.”

“You saw the fall of Atlantis.” It was not a question but a statement, baffling and true. Shepare waited and watched as Liara mentally unpacked. “You witnessed the sinking of Atlantis,” she repeated, “and now you can… read those runes?”

“It appears so, yes. That part is new. I had not seen them since. It must be the same language we heard last night.” Shepard bit her lip and waited for more, hanging upon the doctor’s response.

“Could you teach me?”

Oh. Shepard blinked a few times in surprise. “I don’t think I could, unfortunately. I don’t really know what the symbols mean. Or how to read them. I just, somehow, know what they say.” She pursed her lips and sighed in frustration. “I don’t know what it was in the ruins. Some sort of miasma or, or... “ she shook her head.

“Yes,” Liara mused, “They say the Oracles of old made their seats on great vents in the earth, deep within their mountains, and breathed in their fumes.”

“Do you not believe that it was the pilliar?” Brother Krios spoke up. It seems as if he had heard more of the story than Shepard thought.

“I do not know what to think.” Shepard shook her head. “It still seems impossible.”

“These things often do.” Liara still seemed far away, imagining.

Silence hung for a moment heavy in the air.

“These things?” Shepard questioned at last.

“Truth.” Liara clarified, and the word rang like a bell in Shepard’s heart.

“So you… you believe me.” It was the question which had been pulsing through Shepard’s veins every moment, in every conversation since her fantastical vision of Atlantis. Liara simply nodded.

“In my experience, the truth is often more wondrous than we imagine. And far more than all our books of history and science can tell.”

Even the darkness of this cursed cavern could not blot out the light Shepard felt in her chest.

“Indeed,” Krios echoed. “Dr. T’Soni speaks well. You have been given a prophecy, and a task to fulfil. And it seems as though by coming here, you have already taken a step in the right direction.”

Shepard gave a short, humorless laugh. “Thank you, Friar.”

“Come, our business here is done.” Thane stood and dusted himself off.

“There was one more thing,” Shepard added, her brow in a knot. A prophecy, Brother Krios had said. “In the vision, before I woke. I... drowned, there, in the floodwaters, I remember.” She felt Liara’s hand tighten against her arm in sympathy, but kept her eyes on Krios, where she could trust them. “Just before I woke, I heard the voice again, it said…”

_ Cahf ah nafl mglw'nafh hh' ahor syha'h ah'legeth _

_ Ng llll or'azath syha'hnahh n'ghftephai n'gha ahornah ah'mglw'nafh. _

It took a long, gruesome moment before Shepard came to the gut curdling realization that the sounds and blasphemous syllables she heard were coming from her own mouth. She had meant to tell them the prophecy: _ That is not dead which can eternal lie, And with strange aeons even death may die _. And she had. She had told it to them exactly as she heard it.

As the twisted words of the beast’s twisted tongue poured from her lips, the world seemed to slow. Liara stiffened against her, the comforting grip on her arm now sharp and vice-like. A flash in the dark revealed that Brother Krios held a knife in his hands again, at the ready. But bigger, louder, demanding more attention than all of this was the noise which accompanied her unwilling song.

Stone rang against stone, deep and gigantic, and the ground beneath them violently shook.

“_ Shit. _”


	19. There Is No War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted my last chap at an odd time of day and while the email servers were down. Which is sad, because it defeated my cliffhanger ;) I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Big time CW for Eldritch Horror, again. Honestly, if you got this far... but I'll still try to tag the spoopy content.

“_Shit. _” The word did little to express the sheer and utter dread which dropped into Shepard’s stomach as something far more dangerous than an earthquake befell them.

In a moment she was on her feet, shouting. A moment later, Dr. T’Soni was again in her arms. The next moment, Shepard cursed and ran as the ground under her feet dropped away. The stone beneath them was crumbling. How deep could this cavern go? Shepard ran, stooping down despite the woman in her arms to snatch up one of the lanterns as she followed Brother Krios in a rush toward the door.

All around them chaos roared, crashed, and fell. It was far worse than the earthquake Shepard had feared in the tunnel. She was in that temple on Atlantis all over again. The temple in which she had drowned.

“Jump, Commander!” Krios’ voice beckoned and held his lantern high as the ground between them gave way.

“C-Comand…” Liara’s hand tightened where it now rested on her shoulder, and not for fear of falling.

“Don’t look at it!” Shepard did not know what was behind her, but she could guess.

** _That is not dead which can eternal lie,_ **

** _And with strange aeons even death may die._ **

She could hear the voice again - the same voice. It revelled as in triumph.

“Don’t look at it, doctor.” Shepard ordered again. “Just look at me. Look at Brother Krios. Hold on!” They were in the air, and then all of the air was forced from Shepard’s lungs. Liara cried out at the impact, and for one sickening moment Shepard felt her slipping out of her grasp.

She hit the wall more than the ground, with Dr. T’Soni unfortunately taking more of the blow. The doctor gripped her shoulders for dear life, and Shepard scrabbled desperately for a handhold on the rough stone.

“I’ve got you!” Krios’ voice found her as his hands found her shoulders and pulled.

** _Shepard._ **

It was the same voice she had heard in the night, calling. Shepard’s hands were wet with sweat and she struggled to hold on. The voice felt like an icy hand, scratching at the back of her mind.

“Take her,” Shepard choked, urgent, as she felt herself falling back. She gasped in another breath as Dr. T’Soni’s weight was bodily lifted from her shoulders. “Run!” She yelled, when the two seemed to hesitate.

Krios turned without a word and hastened towards the door. Liara, now leaning against the friar, turned back.

“Shepard!”

“Go!” Shepard shouted, and Krios pulled her away. In their rush, the lantern fell from Liara’s hands and crashed to the ground.

** _Your extinction is inevitable._ **

The voice found her ears again as a cold wind washed over her back. She knew not where the gust could have originated, but it chilled her to the bone.

“_ GO! _” Shepard shouted a second time, and finally saw the light from Krios’ lantern hidden as they rounded a bend in the tunnel leading out.

** _You cannot escape your doom._ **

Like hell she couldn’t. Shepard scrambled and kicked again, and finally managed to shove herself over the ledge and onto more stable ground. She rolled away from the cliff and dragged herself towards the fallen lantern. The glass was broken, but the flame survived.

Panic was settling in now, making her hands and her whole being shake, but Shepard fought her way to her feet and held the small flame before her like a weapon or a shield. “Get back!” Shepard yelled at the darkness. “You were banished from this world!” She tried to think of what Despoina would do.

** _Your words are as empty as your future._ **

** _I am the vanguard of your destruction._ **

Shepard had placed herself in the doorway, as if her physical form could stop the dark destruction from spreading down the tunnel. So far, none of the stone behind her lamp had collapsed, only that beyond it. Hopefully that meant that Dr. T’Soni and the Friar were safe. Good.

She turned back to face her foe and stood her ground. “You were defeated once before, and you will be again!” All tremble was gone from her voice now as she grit her teeth in determination. “I swear-”

** _The time of our return is coming._ **

** _Our numbers will darken the sky of every world._ **

** _Before us, you are nothing._ **

The voice was so loud it shook stone. Shepard braced herself under the doorway, and spat. “Was it nothing that kept you at bay for a thousand years?”

** _Your time will come. Your species will fall._ **

Unsure if she would ever get another chance at dialog, and sure that she never wanted one, Shepard capitalized on what opportunity she had. “What do you want from us? Slaves? Resources?”

** _My kind transcends your very understanding._ **

** _We have no beginning. We have no end. We are infinite._ **

** _You will surrender your potential against the growing void. _ **

It was not an answer, but Shepard felt she was running out of time. Taking a deep breath, she let go of the wall now holding her up and took a step out into the dark, bringing her lantern closer, back to the edge of the cliff. “War, then? Is that why you are here? For war?” The answer rang louder than any before, insistent, dominating:

** _There is no war._ **

** _There is only the harvest._ **

Dread as cold as ice shot through Commander Shepard’s bones. Something deep at the base of her being knew that this was not a threat, and was not a lie. It was a fact, and a promise. She opened her mouth, but nothing, no words came to her defense.

** _The cycle must continue._ **

** _You shall be the first to witness our arrival._ **

** _Surrender your potential against the growing void._ **

“Gah!” Shepard cried out as pain like a vice shot through the back of her mind, like a heavy chain lashed to the back of her skull, dragging her down, down towards her knees. “No!” The lantern, her only safeguard, dropped again to her feet as she gripped desperately at her temples in ringing, echoing pain.

** _You resist. But you will fail. _ **

** _Your mind belongs to me._ **

“No!” Shepard could hardly hear herself now, she stumbled back to the doorway, propping herself up on both walls, like Samson lashed between the pillars of Dagon. And like Samson, she could only pray for a miracle.

To her utter astonishment, one arrived.

The voice had given up dialog now, and returned to the rhythmic, pulsing hum which first seemed to tear the cavern apart. Shepard focused on breathing, on staying upright, as in the dark her mind played tricks. In the dark colors swirled in her vision, beyond any natural hue. Her hearing too seemed to dance and waiver in and out, and with each breath the terrible, acrid smell of the sunken island returned. Shepard screamed. Until finally there was light.

“Wha-?” Shepard sucked in a bewildered breath as the pressure in her mind was cut short. She opened her eyes to find light streaming into the room from above. Silver moonlight. The eclipse - if it had been an eclipse - had ended. The stars were not yet aligned.

She stood for a moment, panting in the giant, silent chamber, alone. Before her, no sign of her dreadful interlocutor remained, save that the cavern had been utterly destroyed. A great pit opened, gaping in the dark, where the ritual chamber once stretched out. It had taken the bodies of the dozen men and women with it, burying them forever in this place. God rest their souls.

With shaking fingers she retrieved the twice-dropped lantern and made her way out, into the long passage through which her friends had escaped. The silence here was oppressive after so deafening an ordeal. She could not stand it long.

“Dr. T’Soni?” Shepard called out down the twisting tunnel, and listened as her voice echoed around her. “Brother Krios?”

The path she was on was rough, and narrow, but unbranching. And to Shepard’s surprise, it’s cardinal direction seemed to be ‘up’. She was not sure how the wounded Dr. T’Soni had even managed this path - or how Brother Krios might have carried her. It was quite a climb, but it was not impassible, and gave the hopeful impression of leading her ever up and into the sunlight. Shepard had not realised how deep underground they must have been until now. It was a long, cold, and lonely climb.

The unprotected flame of Shepard’s lantern began to waiver just as Shepard began to worry that despite no notable side exits, she had managed to get lost. But a wavering flame meant a breeze, and a breeze meant…

“One moment,” The stoic tone of Brother Krios’ voice came to her from up ahead, along with a loud grunt of effort. Even after such a short separation, it felt wonderful to hear another human voice. 

“Here, perhaps I could-” Dr. T’Soni’s voice, high and gentle, joined in, and out of the dangerous darkness joy sparked in Commander Shepard’s heart at last once more.

“Dr. T’Soni!” She called up the passage again, and redoubled her efforts to reach them.

“Shepard?”

Shepard pulled herself up the last ascent and rounded the last corner to see Liara sitting on the ground leaning on a wall, with Thane beside her also pressing against the stone. In a flash, however, the friar stood before her.

“B-brother Krios?” Shepard stopped short as the churchman silently but swiftly raised a knife until it was an inch from her throat. Her hands shot up in immediate surrender.

“Brother Krios, what in God’s name-?!” She heard Liara’s protests as Thane eyed her seriously, scrutinizing she knew not what. A moment later and the knife was gone, disappeared into his robes.

“My apologies, Commander.” Thane’s voice was as sturdy as ever. “I had to be sure you had not succumb.” He stepped back, and finally allowed Shepard into the small space. She nodded a silent understanding, while Liara looked between the two of them, perplexed beyond words.

“What-?”

“Are you alright, Doctor?” Shepard knelt next to her without answering her unfinished question. “I apologize for the-”

This time, Liara was the one to cut her off. “Don’t apologize.” She held up a hand. “You both clearly know more about what that… what happened back there.” She looked from her to Thane and back. “But we all made it, and we are almost out.”

“She is right, only one door remains. Come, help me with this,” Brother Krios instructed, and Shepard helped move Liara out of the way, then crouched with Thane to shove hard on one of the stone mechanisms, which turned out to be a heavy stone door. 

“One, two, three, push!” The grind of stone on stone sent shivers through Shepard’s spine, but light poured in to soothe her.

“Phew!” Shepard took in the sight before them, a small basin like antechamber outside the door, with clear sky above. “One more set of stairs,” Shepard gave Liara a hand up, and the limping archeologist came to lean against her again in a way that was almost second nature by now. Shepard could tell that her injuries were worse, as her movements stiffened and her grip tightened with each step. “You can do it,” She whispered encouragement. “We’re almost there.” Liara nodded, and they stooped through the low door after Thane.

After spending so long underground, with their only hope of rescue the return of Shepard’s crew, it felt a little more than unnatural to merely walk out. And, it turned out, there would be more to it than that.

As the three adventures finally breathed in fresh air they blinked and swayed together. The sun was rising before them, burning huge and red on the horizon of a vast and verdant sea. For a moment Shepard thought she might again be trapped in some strange vision, for it was not the world they had left behind. But as the cool wind caught her, she looked again to see that it was not an ocean stirring before her, but leaves. She and her companions stood high above the bustling green canopy, the tallest of the jungle pyramids under their feet.


	20. Starlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this is so late, and that I've kept to no specified posting schedule. It's my birthday today! So I thought I'd share this with you.  
I have good news and bad news. Good news is, you're gonna like this chapter. Bad news is, this might be the last chapter I post for a while. I have a few more drafted but I want to make sure I have the long term Plot more cemented before I continue. Thank you so much for the support I have recieved! I am excited for the rest of this plot, as we still haven't gotten to the turn that made me really want to write this. In the mean time, have some Shiara. As a treat.  
No Horror tags this time.  
Finally: I shouldn’t have to say this but hey - black lives matter. And there’s a whole lot of armed thugs with the law behind them these days. Stay safe, and donate to a bail fund or support organization if you can. Support black artists and communities. And where ever you live, if you are at all able, VOTE. Thanks.

Getting down the great pyramid proved almost as difficult as getting up. Thankfully, no more mad cultists or eldritch gods arose to oppose them, only the dizzying influence of gravity and the too-slick moss underfoot. It took some time for Shepard and Krios to devise a safe way to carry the wounded T’Soni down, and even longer to execute it.

Even as they worked, silence haunted them. Not the absolute silence of the nights in the cave - indeed, they were surrounded by a symphony from birds, beasts, insects, and trees - not even silence between them, as Krios pointed out loose bits or rock, or offered other guidance. But silence on the only thing that really mattered.

Standing here in the light of day, the entire ordeal seemed like it could have been a figment of Shepard’s traumatized imagination - except that the haunted look in her eyes was now reflected in those of her companions. The longer their silence on the matter continued, the more difficult it was to break, and the more of a safe haven the silence became. As if by simply not talking about it, they could make the pagan horror less real.

Perhaps this was why the cult had remained a secret for so long. Not to protect its members, but to protect everyone else. 

Shepard had many questions, and even more answers she ought to give. But by the time they made it back to the small campsite - the very camp they had warned the crew to avoid - the silence had grown too strong to shatter. Discussion turned to other topics, and to the work Liara and her men had accomplished at their dig before tragedy struck.

Long before the sun began its descent Shepard decided that any attempts to leave the campsite would be both harmful to Liara and also likely to get them horribly lost. Thane attested that there would be no more trouble at the camp tonight, and lit them a small fire. But before his assurances could be put to the test, their party’s number increased five-fold.

To say that the crew of the  _ HMS Normandy _ was surprised to find their Commander and Dr. T’soni both safely outside of the earthen prison in which they had last seen them, and also in the company of a rather worse for wear Friar, would be a vast understatement. And what explanation Shepard could offer was cryptic at best.

The forest filled with a flurry of questions - especially from Lt. Vega - when the  _ Normandy  _ troop arrived, with all the supplies needed to craft a pallet-lift and, it seemed, construct a small fort just in case.

“Were you planning on building a crane, or a staircase to retrieve us?” Shepard teased her men. But it was smiles all around.

Dr. Chakwas had accompanied the returning party, and was quick to whisk the wounded Liara off, back into the archeologist’s own old tent, to attend her in private. Shepard tried to ignore any feeling of loss as her constant companion of the last three days left her side. But there was much to distract herself with. She had made the executive decision that they and the exhausted crew would rest here for the night, and make the trip back come morning. There were tents to be set up, firewood to be gathered, and a few of her men even asked to be sent after game. This Shepard denied them. No matter how safe Thane proclaimed the forest or how defeated the cult, no more blood should be spilled before they left.

By the time they all settled down for dinner - of more dried meat and hard tack, but with a fire this time, and even, luxury of luxuries, some fresh fruit which Paulo helped them find - the story of how they escaped had been repeated many times, always varying slightly in order to avoid the truth.

Shepard knew she had been sloppy in her lies by the look on Lt. Williams’ face, but her friend did not press, for now. The same could not be said for the moment they were alone.

Night fell, and tiredness hit Shepard like a wave. She assigned a watch, and ordered all others to bed. Their bunking situation was limited, so most of the men bunked in groups of four or five. Liara, as the only lady in their midst - in the midst of three other women, Shepard could not help but bemoan the irony - had her own private tent, still intact from when this was a dig site. Shepard and Williams, the two highest ranking officers, shared the command tent.

“Just like old times,” Ashely commented. They had shared quarters for the better part of two years when they were both Lieutenants under Commodore Anderson. Whether this was because the man knew them both to be women or not was never clear.

“Mhm.” Shepard hummed her agreement as she laid out her bedding but said no more.

“Commander?”

“Hmm?”

Shepard finally looked up to see Ashely’s mouth half open in unspoken question, her hesitation hanging heavy in the air.

“Apologies.” Shepard stood a little taller. “Speak freely, Lieutenant, please.”

Ashley nodded, but was still thinking through her question. “I just…” She stumbled over a few openings. “Are you alright, Shep?”

Shepard’s eyebrows raised at the question, and Ashely’s familiar tone. Was it that obvious she was shaken?

“I… Yes.”  _ No _ . “Thank you for asking. I have been rather distracted by what comes next, but I…”  _ Can’t stop thinking about how the world is going to end. _

“What happened down there, Shepard?” Ashley pressed. Shepard had already told the story nigh on seven times, but she knew as well as Williams that she had not told the whole thing.

Shepard sighed and cursed her own cowardice. She would be willing to testify before the Naval Court again - testify before the Throne itself about what she had seen, about how real and present this danger was. But somehow telling her men, telling Ashley, gave her pause.

“I…” she allowed herself to crash down onto her bed. “I’m not entirely sure.” It was not quite a lie. They sat in the silence of her not-quite-lie for a moment. “Forgive me, Ashley. I am… quite ready to be out of this forest. And to get some sleep.” Ashley nodded, but it somehow it made her feel worse. “I promise, I will provide you and the other officers a full report once we are onboard the  _ Normandy _ . You all deserve to know what is going on.”

She had not meant her last statement to sound as forboding as it had. But it was too late now. And she was already running the mental calculations on how much of her story she would need to cut out.

Ashley was nodding again, seeming sad but content. “Rest well then, Commander.”

“Thanks, Ash. Goodnight.”

\-------------------------------------------

It was not a good night. Despite having survived several worse nights in a row, the monotonous stretch of eternity which Shepard found herself in as sleep eluded her was threatening to drive her mad more surely than the horrors she had seen and heard. Somehow it was always when she was most tired - had been up for God knew how many hours straight - that once settled, she had the most trouble falling asleep. Always had been. It was not a valuable trait to have at sea. Shepard felt at times like she could fall asleep anywhere any time unless she desperately needed to, in which case she would lie awake in bed all night.

Hang it all. She would not stare at the inside of this dark tent all night long. She pressed herself up, careful not to wake the woman in the next bunk over, and let herself out into the moonlight.

Nighttime in the rainforest was just as if not more raucous than the day, filled with all sorts of alien noises which Shepard could not begin to place. They gave Shepard more comfort than she could express. Normal, natural noises surrounded her. She breathed in deep the fresh, damp air. It was a warm, humid night, and would rain again before morning. The fire had been allowed to burn itself out, and Shepard busied herself a moment with making sure the last of it was safely stamped away before approaching the soldier on duty for the second watch of the night. He was a young man, quiet, a recent addition to the crew. Mr. Barrett was his name, she remembered. He snapped to attention when he saw her approach.

“At ease, Mr. Barrett. I’m here to relieve you.”

“Sir?”

“Get some rest. See if you can find sleep while it eludes me.”

“Yes sir.”

“Anything to report?”

“Nothing sir.”

“Good-”

“Except…” Shepard brow knit as Barrett gestured through the dark, pointing toward the old dig site. Shepard saw movement there, and it took her a moment to realise who or what it was. “She’s been there for about a quarter hour, sir.” Barrett whispered, “Told me she couldn’t sleep and went out for a walk. I requested she not go far, on your orders sir.”

“Good man. Thank you.”

“Sir.”

Mr. Barrett walked away with a nod, and Shepard could not help re-studying the scene before her as her eyes adjusted. It was amazing how much could hide in this jungle simply because Shepard’s mind was so slow to parse what she was looking at among the plants and stones.

In this case what she was looking at was definitely Dr. Liara T’Soni, but not like she had seen her before. The young woman wore a simple skirt, dark, of what color she could not tell, and a white top with altogether more frills of lace then the dirty work shirt which Shepard had seen her in before. It was a practical outfit, but a feminine one. Even in her uniform, Shepard felt disheveled in comparison. Dr. Chakwas had brought along a crutch for the wounded scholar, with the help of which Liara seemed to be pacing slowly. It looked like a laborious process, and one not without pain. But if Shepard had learned anything about the young woman in their time together, it was that she would practice until she got it right.

“It seems that I am not the only one who sleep eludes tonight.” Shepard stopped when Liara jumped slightly. “May I join you?”

“Of course, Commander.”

Shepard stepped closer and found that they both looked up at the great pyramid. She took a slow, deep breath in and out again, and the weight of the silence between them returned. Finally Shepard decided to do something about it.

“I am sure you have questions.” She said, echoing her earlier admission.

Liara nodded mutely in response. Shepard took a deep breath, in and out, and waited. But the flood of questions did not come. Liara continued looking up at the pyramid. Shepard clenched her jaw.

“I must begin then with my deepest apologies.” She turned, and Liara turned with her, as they walked side by side through the small clearing. Shepard kept her voice down to avoid waking her men, and kept her eyes on her feet, her hands making close gestures as she talked if only to give her something to do. “I thought by staying by your side here I might save you, Dr. T’Soni, but in doing so I instead put you far more gravely into harm’s way. It was wrong of me to hide from you the severity of my situation, or the tremendous danger in joining my cause. I did no-” Shepard stopped, as the warmth of Liara’s hand found her arm.

“Please.” Liara stopped them, turning towards her, and Shepard finally looked up. “Please, no apologies. Just... Tell me everything. No more secrets.”

Shepard blinked once, and again. “Very well.” She nodded, and Liara turned them to walking again. “But I have told you everything I can remember about Atlantis. And as for this place, I… I don’t know what more I could tell you beyond what you heard.”

“What I heard was… monstrous, Commander. But it was real. Just as you said it was. As real as… as Atlantis!” Liara took a deep, raptured breath and Shepard tried to stifle a smile, but the light in the archaeologist's heart was contagious, and as beautiful as the moon’s glow on her shoulders. “I came here because I wanted to find proof - proof of a truth which I have seen all my life, which no one else has ever been willing to look in the eye and take seriously.” Frustration radiated off of the young archeologist. “I wished to better enable myself to advocate for my research, to show the Academy that… that…”

“That you were right?”

“That I am… more than just a woman.” Liara’s voice was quiet now, but just as fierce.

Ah. Shepard nodded. She knew exactly what Liara meant, far more than the scholar could ever realise. “You are a credit to your sex, Dr. T’Soni, and what’s more, a credit to your field. How many other archeologists crossed the ocean and this jungle to find what you found? How many men did what you did?”

“You did.” Shepard was cut short by the reply. She faltered, and Liara continued before she could interject. “Commander I find myself ever more in your debt. Not only for saving me from the prospect of death and starvation, but for opening my eyes. You have not only believed me, and helped to confirm my belief, but have shown me that there is so much more! Far more, greater and more terrible truths yet to be discovered.”

Shepard again tried to interrupt, tried to say something about the inherent danger, trying to remind her of the horror they had faced. Liara paid her no heed.

“Whatever the threat;” she continued, holding up a hand both to stop the Commander’s interruptions and as if in witness to an oath “be it a threat to my person, my research, or my life, I will not look away.”

Now Shepard could do naught but stare, open mouthed, at the beautiful woman before her. Never in her life had she wanted to kiss someone more.

“If we cannot find the island itself, we must find this cult, The Cult of Atlantis. Perhaps they know the island’s location.” Liara resumed pacing. Her speech grew quicker the more focused she became, and the quicker her speech the less attention she paid to anything else. “I could make up a list of other sites they might seek out, ancient ruins far from the public eye, and then-” Liara’s monologue was cut short with a quick curse in a language Shepard did not know as the archeologist’s injured foot hit a rock in the dark and she stumbled. Luckily, Shepard was there to catch her.

“One step at a time, Doctor.” She carefully righted the archeologist. Liara’s hand was on Shepard’s shoulder now, and it took some restraint to not fall back into position under her arm. “For now, we focus on getting back to my ship. And you focus on healing.” Liara made a face, but nodded. “It’s a two day hike back to shore,” Shepard added worriedly. “Will you be alright?”

Liara nodded again. It was not like they had a choice. “Thank you again for saving me, Commander. It will be an honor to join your journey.”

“The honor is mine, Dr. T’Soni.”

Liara bit her lip, and shifted her injured foot again. “Liara, please.”

Shepard’s face flushed, hot, and red she was sure, though thank God the night would cover at least that. “Shepard, then.” She did her best not to stammer.

Liara smiled, and Shepard’s face grew warmer still.

_ Shit _ . She needed to get out of this.

“You’re sure you can walk?” She needed to change the subject to literally anything else, even if Liara looked somewhat put out that she would ask again. The young woman took up her challenge, and walked with her crutch several long paces away and back, just to show that she could. The warmth of her hand was removed from Shepard’s shoulder as she did so, and the Commander straightened her jacket in an attempt to distract herself from its loss. It was not particularly effective.

“Satisfied?” Liara asked as she made her way back on the crutch.

“Yes. Forgive me for questioning your fitness, Dr. T- Liara.” Shepard corrected. “You seem more than up to any challenge.”

The compliment and her apology seemed to genuinely surprise the scholar. Shepard mentally barrated herself. Why was it so hard to act wisely around this woman? It was a dangerous game, and it was Liara who could most be hurt. 

At last, Shepard was saved by the sound of movement in the quiet camp.

“That will be the third watch,” she let Liara know, and guided their walk until it came back to Liara’s tent. “It’s a long hike tomorrow. I should go and see if I can’t get any sleep tonight. So should you, Doctor.”

“Liara.” Liara corrected. “But you are right. Thank you for keeping me company, Shepard.”

Shepard nodded a bit more stiffly than she meant. “We can discuss future plans in the morning. Until then, I hope you rest well. Liara.”

As Liara returned the well wishes and Shepard turned back to her own tent she knew that the young woman’s starlit smile would haunt her for the rest of the night.


	21. Crossing the Styx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back. Back again. Shepard's back. Tell a friend.
> 
> Thank you all for your patience. Act II - or whatever we're at now - is going to be a much slower go. I like to stay 2 chapters ahead of posting, so you'll get the next one whenever chapter 24 is done. But unfortunately i can make no real pretense of keeping a schedule. It's odd times we live in. But do know that I have a rough outline for at VERY least 10 chapters more. And in all truth that will probably only get us to the start of Act III.
> 
> Wanted to bring this story back in a big way! So buckle up.
> 
> (Apologies if you got double notifications for this chap. Had some technical issues).
> 
> CW: Violence, horror, violence, baby. Lots of fighting in this one. Also some ptsd. I know you've waded through a lot to get this far, but do take care of yourself.

The journey back to shore somehow proved even longer than the trek to _ Yax Mutal _ . This time, however, Shepard held the hope of a good meal and a night of true shore leave in the town and taverns of Belize before her men. Spirits were high, and the town did not disappoint. Or at least Shepard assumed it did not. She herself was more than grateful to be back in her own bed aboard the _HMS Normandy _.

Shepard had shown Liara to her cabin, announced a night of shore leave, changed herself into clean clothes, and quickly fallen into bed. This night, no dreams followed her, and it was several peaceable hours after dawn when she finally awoke. By the time she was dressed and out of her cabin, preparations were well underway. Alenko and Cortez were overseeing their resupply, and Williams made sure that all men were accounted for. It would be several hours before they might be underway, so Shepard at long last allowed herself leave of the town.

Her first priority was to bathe. It was not hard to find a bathhouse, and at this odd hour, it was not even that difficult to find one devoid of any other patrons. Bathing was a luxury, when one had to hide the shape of one’s body from others at all times. And it was a luxury she could very rarely afford. Onboard a ship fresh water could be more valuable than gold, and was reserved for drinking only.

It was, given Commander Shepard’s luck, only natural that the moment she finally felt her muscles relax in the warm water, and allowed her hair loose to pool around her shoulders as she sank down into the tub that a terrible racket could be heard outside.

For about one minute, Shepard was sure that whatever it was, she would let her Lieutenants handle it. A minute later, the town’s bell rang.

Uttering a curse under her breath at whoever had caused the alarm, Shepard pulled herself out of comfort, warmth, and healing, and into the surprisingly cold air. She rushed through what was to be a peaceful morning and raced to dry off and make herself presentibly masculine before the bathhouse proprietor came to check in.

The town bell was still ringing by the time she made it out the door, still buttoning up her sleeves and jacket as she reached the sound’s source.

“Explain the meaning of this!” She demanded, approaching Lt. Alenko, who stood with a man she knew to be the local magistrate.

“Sail ho, sir! She’s not near enough yet to see her colors, but they are dark. Neither British nor Spanish, that’s sure.”

“Our friends, the _ Dimas _?” Shepard took the spyglass Alenko offered, and stepped up onto a small platform on which she could look out over the bay. The town had no formal fortifications, but was well positioned.

“No, sir, unfortunately-”

“Commander, please-” the magistrate, a thin man, angular and clean shaven, interrupted Alenko as Shepard worked to focus her spyglass on the approaching craft. It was a brigantine, and a large one, only slightly smaller than the Normandy. Shepard glanced only momentarily at the man addressing her before looking back, but it was enough permission for him to continue. “I must beg of you and your men to be gone.”

“What?” Shepard did not shut the spyglass, but turned her attention to the man.

“I know it is… shameful.” The man cast his eyes down and away. “But it will be for the best. Please.”

“You know this vessel?”

The man nodded. “We know it’s like.” Fear was evident in every syllable. 

Shepard’s mind worked quickly now. Given the man’s tone, the panic of this small community, and his insistence that the _ HMS Normandy, _which could be the town’s best defenders be off, she could surmise several things: Firstly, that this ship must in fact be a pirate vessel, and second that it was not alone. She had heard tale of such criminals banding together. And though only one ship now approached them, the magistrate’s tone indicated that there were several more.

“Please. There is still time for you to fly. They will not attack, if we cooperate.”

“Cooperate?” Alenko beat her to the question, but the magistrate seemed too shaken to explain.

“Speak, man, what do you mean by this?” Shepard demanded.

“They - they come ashore when they need supplies. Food and drink, the like. But they take what they want and leave.”

Shepard’s brow knit. “A ransom. Or a tribute.” The first would be a cause for shame, but the latter an act of treason.

“Please, sir! We’ve fought them once before, and lost a dozen men for our effort. I know how it looks, but please do not antagonize them.”

“This is a crown colony!” Kaidan insisted. “Why haven’t you called for aid?”

“We have! And the only response we have received is more privateers who come, inquire, and leave, only to never be seen again. Please, Commander. Their demands will not cripple us, but a battle would.”

“Commander, we must stand and defend them.” Alenko argued.

“If you did, they would only send more!” The magistrate’s voice cracked.

“How many ships?” Shepard’s tone was grave. 

“What?”

“How many different ships have they sent? How many do you think this band has?” She turned back to her spyglass, and tried to make out the ship’s colors again.

“At least three that I have seen - but the amount of supplies must be for more. It’s not just here, the smaller Spanish colonies too, I’ve heard.”

“And they seem united?”

“Yes.”

“Do they have a name?”

Before the magistrate could answer, the distant wind shifted and presented it’s own response, finally waving the pirate ship’s colors into view.

There was not one black flag, but two, one above the other. The first was a sequence of three skulls, white on black, facing first left, then straight on, and then right. Beneath each skull was a strange pattern of bones - three in a shape like a short U beneath the skull, set atop two more, crossed, not in the shape of an X but as of a crucifix held upside down. The lower flag, however, was what caught her eye: A single skull, it’s jaw opened wide in a macabre scream, surrounded by a jagged zig-zag of bones, like some noxious anti-sun. It was a flag she had seen once before, in the Bay of Akuze.

All blood seemed to rush away from Shepard’s face as the realization washed over her, and her breath caught in her throat. But even as it did, the magistrate beside her provided another name:

“Cerberus.”

Time seemed to have ceased a moment, and Shepard did not know how long it was before she finally heard him or generated a response. “...What?” She turned back to the magistrate and handed her spyglass back to Alenko.

“They’re called Cerberus. And they all fly that flag - the three skulls.”

“And the second flag?” Lt. Alenko asked.

“Threshers.” Shepard answered for him.

“What?!” Kaidan at least knew the significance of the word.

“You know them, Commander?”

Shepard only nodded, mutely. Her mind protested. The Threshers’ ships had all been sunk. Admiral Anderson had assured her of it. And what was this new name, Cerberus? She tried to tell herself that it did not matter, and to shake herself from her trance. Every second wasted was a second the enemy sailed closer to shore.

“Your… your orders, Commander?” Alenko’s voice summoned her from thought at last.

“Please, there is still-” 

Shepard held up a hand to silence the magistrate. “Has this ship been here before?”

“Cerberus has sent ships at intervals for the last three years, it-”

“This is not just Cerberus, and that is not what I asked. Has _ this _ ship been here before?”

“Only once, sir. The first time, when we tried to fight back. Ever since they have sent two smaller vessels, each flying a different flag underneath the three skulls.”

Shepard looked out to the bay again. The Thresher ship was getting closer. This town had no fortifications, no cannon, no defense. All they had was the _ HMS Normandy _ between them and the Thresher Maws. Admiral Anderson would not be there to fish her half dead from the wreckage this time.

“Get your people inside, or inland.” Shepard ordered grimly. “This will not end peaceably.”

“My men have already prepared supplies to-”

“I said” Shepard found herself grabbing a handful of the man’s shirt. “Get them off the docks and off the streets.”

The man merely nodded.

“Alenko, with me.” Shepard did not wait to see her orders fulfilled. “Call all hands to combat stations and make ready to sail.”

“Aye, sir!”

Thankfully, Lt. Williams and Mr. Cortez had anticipated their need for a hasty departure, and by the time the Commander and her First Mate were aboard, battle stations were called and preparations were well underway.

“Lieutenant,” she called Williams to give one final order before they cast off. “See to it that Dr. T’Soni is brought to my cabin, and well barricaded inside. Leave a man with her. Friar Krios, if he will.”

“Right away, sir.”

That would have to do for preparation. There was no time to call her officers to a meeting, and just barely enough to weigh anchor and bring the ship around to a more advantageous position before they were in range.

There was a brief, tense moment of silence in which Shepard dared to hope that this ship really had come to rob the city’s supplies - already neatly prepared - and be on its way. The moment was shattered by thunder and white smoke.

The pirate’s first warning shot came early, and fell short.

“Open gunports!” Shepard ordered as it splashed a hundred feet off the starboard rail, and listened as her command was relayed throughout the ship. Silence held, as every man waited on her word.

“Forward,” Shepard instructed, quietly, to the limited crew still manning navigation. “Give us some space.” The bosun echoed her orders down the line and the mainsail was lowered by half and re-secured.

As the _ HMS Normandy _edged further into the bay, and closer to her enemies, Seaman Moreau kept her starboard broadside aim true.

Shepard watched to see the effect. The Thresher ship could not come into port now without facing a full broadside, and their angle of approach would need to be corrected. However, instead of turning away and entering the bay’s more shallow waters, the ship turned to starboard; sailing toward them now, no longer aimed for the city.

“Fire a warning shot!” Shepard gave the order at last. This Thresher ship was poorly steered indeed, making itself only an easier target.

The shot flew true, sailing right over the enemy deck, and splashing down on the other side. They were in range.

“A signal, sir!” Mr. Traynor called. Shepard brought up her spyglass once again.

It was a unique message, one word spelled out, and took some time to deliver. They were stalling. And gaining on the _ Normandy _.

S...H...E...P…

Shepard did not have to wait for the rest.

** _Shepard._ **

The Commander gripped her temples as the voice came again. How? In broad daylight, on her own ship, the voice invaded her thoughts. She knew in an awful moment that these Threshers were not here for the town.They were here for her. 

The realization cast Shepard’s heart down to her stomach, and her stomach itself seemed to drop through the deck and into the cold sea. The Threshers were back. They had come for her. Come to finish the job. And now they had a dread patron as well. Is that how they were here? Had that… _ thing _brought them back? From the depths? From the dead?

“Commander?!” WIlliam’s voice called her back. They were still awaiting her order, and the ship was still coming nearer.

She had to pull herself together. This could not have been the same ship, it was merely the same flag. And what was more, there was only one of them. The Bay of Akuze had been a blood bath, one Royal ship against three. This would be different. She would have the upper hand.

** _Your extinction is inevitable._ **

“Fire!” Shepard ordered, and soon all was thunder and smoke. With every cannon blast, the voice drummed a discordant rhythm between her ears. Water and wood exploded before them, and Shepard could not help feel a terrible sense of deja-vu.

_ “Fire!” She had yelled as she ran through the blood-soaked deck as it splintered beneath her feet: a mere Lieutenant, now the sole senior member of the crew. “Keep fighting, men! We’ll die at our guns!” _

And they had. But she had failed at even that.

As the smoke rose, the Thresher ship advanced. It was close enough now that she could read the ship’s name, although it was one she already knew: _ Styx _ . The same name. But the _ Styx _ had sunk years ago, with the _ Langford _. Her men had earned at least that.

In answer to the thunderous hail of the _ Normandy _ ’s cannon came the sharp scattering of musket fire, and Shepard saw a few of her men dive for cover behind the railing and their own guns, though many veterans stood firm. The _ Styx _would not try to sink them, but to board. She could see them now; a motley crew, all shouts and jeers and weapons. It was clear why this small colony was bent to their advances. But His Majesty's Royal Navy was not so easily intimidated.

“Return fire!” Shepard called again, as her own musketeers lined up. “Fire at will! Shoot to kill, gentleman, and aim to sink!” She would take no chances of boarding. The _ Styx _was getting closer now, and she would not bother with taking out their mast or sails when she could hammer holes in their hull.

Cannon shot flew on both sides now, a deafening volley of destruction, although the _ Normandy _ still kept the better angle. The _ Styx _was taking a beating, but even shot full of holes, she did not alter course. She was heading right for them, on a collision course.

They were close enough now that she could see their Captain: a tall man, clean shaven, with straight dark hair worn loose and uncovered. He did not shout orders, he did not even watch his men. He was simply staring - watching her - as their ships came closer. Even from this distance, Shepard wondered that she knew his face.

Cannon and musket continued to ring out, again and again, as the ships neared, and Shepard looked away first. Smoke was rising from the port of Belize. Shepard watched as the _ Styx _ fired once more - not into the _ Normandy _, but off to port - into the town she was to protect. These pirates knew no laws of war.

Her eyes caught those of the enemy Captain again, through the haze of musket smoke. They were nearly in range of capture now, and the _ Styx _had not slowed.

** _Surrender now._ **

“Hoist sail!” Shepard’s voice was drowned by the guns. “Cease fire!” She called again, and Williams echoed her command.

“Commander?” Alenko was at the base of the stairs in an instant.

The _ Styx _was closing in, and firing still.

“Hoist sail! We must lead them off.” Moreau and the Bosun followed orders, but Alenko protested at once.

“The town-”

“They aren’t here for the town!” Shepard found her voice horse. “They’re here for-”

“_ Shepard! _” A foreign voice cut them off, echoing as the guns went quiet. Shepard waited to make sure Alenko had heard; that the voice was not merely inside her head.

“Hoist sail!” Shepard ordered firmly, her voice falling to a fatal whisper. “Get us clear before we are boarded. We’ll draw them out or round on them, but we must get clear.” This time, Alenko at once obeyed.

Shepard’s course of sail was reasonable - a brief moment of vulnerability while they sailed further past, then a burst of speed to take them out of range where they could turn back into position, while leading the _ Styx _out of range of the port, so long as they bought the bait. The moment of vulnerability, however, was where the plan was ended.

As they sailed past, pain split the Commander’s head again, so sharp that for a moment she thought she might be shot.

_ Hup yogfm'll, hup mgepogg, hup n'ghft _

_ Mg r'luh ot fahf shuggog ahornah h' mgah nog _

_ Nilgh'ri ahf' h' mgah ephaizhro. _

It was a human voice, though inhuman words, which floated over the waves, and at once came to terrible effect. In one moment, the _ Normandy _ sailed quickly on it’s course to flank the _ Styx _. The next moment, as the pirate’s terrible words were uttered, the ship’s progress was no more.

Above them, the sails fell slack as the wind was in an instant utterly becalmed. In the same moment, waves flowing counter to the current crashed over the bow, halting their progress. So sudden was the change it was as if an anchor had hit bottom. Men and weapons all fell and shifted as the tremendous momentum of the great ship lurched, and the _ Normandy _ ’s bow all but crashed into the _ Styx _’s hull.

“What in-” Mr. Moreau didn’t even have time to curse as battle was joined in earnest.

“To arms, men!” Shepard shouted, pulling herself to her feet as the first of the pirate’s grappling hooks came to hold. “Axes and swords!” But no amount of line-cutting could keep the enemy off her deck.

The great boom of cannon was replaced by the terrible shout of dying men, a cloud of chaos into which Shepard dove. She was glad now to have drilled her men in survival chief of all, and fought with every trick she had. As the first of the pirates touched the _ Normandy _, hers was the first bullet in the air. When her pistol was spent, she took to the railing, slashing and shoving. As many pirates fell into the sea as fell to her blade, but it was no matter. Let the sea take them, and take their Captain too, if he thought to command it.

Shepard saw the devil now, preparing to board with his men. She snagged another pistol from the belt of a man she had slain and fired, but must have missed. She lost the enemy captain in the fray as, on instinct alone, she sprang to the aid of Seaman Moreau, disarming the brute who held him and undoing him with his own blade.

“She won’t budge, sir!” Joker shouted, gripping the ship’s wheel again.

“There’s magic in it.” Shepard responded without time for thought, and she shoved another pirate off, pinning his blade to the rail. She threw a sharp left hook, and shoved the dazed man overboard and into the sea.

Whatever expression of shock and disbelief her helmsman might have returned was cut off with “Look out!” a man had made it up the desk stairs.

Shepard turned, but his pistol was already raised to head height, and thunder roared, loud as cannon. Impact never came. The pirate was dashed to the ground before her, and Shepard relieved him of his gun, only able to spare the briefest glance up to her savior; Major Vakarian’s long rifle gleamed golden in the light of the fighting top as he hastily reloaded and found another mark.

There was no time to stop and think. No time to wonder how all this could be possible in the light of day. There was only the next blade coming down towards her, the next shot blasting too near. The battle raged on, and it was impossible to tell for a time in which direction favor might fall. The pirates fought savagely, and were armed to the teeth. Every second there were more of them, shouting, screaming. The Threshers and their war cry. Back from the grave. Shepard had thought that it would be the last thing she ever heard. She had thought that years ago. Today, she would ensure it was not.

There were no orders to give now. There was no plan. There was only the simple and sworn directive which she had drilled into her men their entire passage from England: Survive. Survive with bloody knuckles, survive with puncture wounds, survive with the gore of other men soaking through your clothes. Survive, and make sure that anyone else wearing your colors can do the same. Shepard made Seaman Moreau her priority, and defended the ship’s wheel with everything in her.

In a short while, Lt. Alenko joined her. His arm was bleeding, but he seemed in one piece. That was a good sign. His aid gave Shepard a moment to catch her breath, and look over the fray. The hatches were still closed, and the fighting looked contained to the upper deck, though not for lack of trying. She saw an enemy set both hands upon the forward hatch, only to hear Vikarian’s rifle once more. It took her a long moment to realise the unbelievable truth. They were winning. They had been boarded by the Threshers, and they were winning.

Her reprieve did not last.

“Shepard!” The call was not one of her Lieutenants, nor even one of her men. Shepard turned just in time to see Alenko go down: a savage blow to the head rendering the skilled swordsman merely another obstacle on the floor. A man was standing over him, his sword raised towards her. Shepard did not have to guess that this was the Captain of the _ Styx _. In what seemed like another life, she had been a part of a team that had pursued this man for months, before being caught in his trap.

“Leng,” She spat. He laughed - a mirthless, cruel sound: A laugh she had heard in her memories and her nightmares. She should have known this son of a bitch hadn’t died; that she had not been the only survivor left in Akuze. Time had not treated him kindly, though. He was missing an arm, and from the looks of things, an eye. At the time of their last meeting he surely had not known her name, as he seemed to now. She was sure he would know her better by his end. “Of all the blasted - why couldn’t you just stay dead?” Shepard kept her blade lowered, but between them, and circled around.

The point of Leng’s sword followed. “Your time has run out, Shepard. You’re in over your head.”

It was hard to remember later who had struck first. The first few blows and blocks were always like the first few steps in a dance. Despite the heat and rush of battle still pumping through her veins, Shepard tried not to rush this. This man knew something, and was doubtless the key to freeing the _ Normandy _ from whatever spell he had cast or power he had summoned. She ought to keep him talking, if she could.

“What happened, old man, did Hell spit you back out?” Leng was probably not much older than she, though something about his eyes spoke to his age. Or rather, his eye.

Leng’s laugh was incredulous, superior. “Hell is nothing. You could not comprehend the things I have seen.”

“Try me.” Shepard landed a blow, but her blade met wood in the place of flesh. Leng pushed her off with his false arm, and she blocked his next strike low, backing farther across the deck to steer their conflict away from her helmsman and Alenko’s downed form.

Leng’s bravado was telling, but so was his threat. If she could not stop them, they would not bother sending him after her. Whoever ‘they’ were, it was clear that they and the Cult were one and the same. Liara said that the cult would lead them back to Atlantis. But first they needed to free the _ Normandy _ from this cursed sea. She hoped that his death would suffice.

“Do you think you can stop any of this? Stop the stars in the heavens? Stop the rising of the tide?” Leng’s strikes were precise, and powerful, but sliced mainly air, as Shepard held him at bay. “The time of returning has come, Shepard.”

His voice held venom, and above all conviction in his cause. Perhaps there was truth in it; how his blasphemous speech held sway even in the light of day. Shepard stumbled, and suffered a blow to the face for it as her advisory took what advantage he had.

“Cheap tricks and charlantry!” Shepard spat blood, lashing back with her sword in two harsh and reckless arcs. At least one of them drew blood, but no more than a flesh wound. “Piracy was not base enough, I see. You’ve made yourself a slave to your devilry.”

“And you will be even less.” Leng parried and shoved. “Your ship is mine, Shepard! And your soul long overdue to the sea.”

Leng’s blade came altogether too close to Shepard’s ear now, pressing her own down as he attempted to pin her to the starboard rail. She kicked, but he dodged. Her next stroke hit nothing but air as he danced away.

“_ Oph _!” Shepard could not help but exclaim. Light and dark flashed before her as something hit her, hard, from behind. A hand found her shoulder and spun her around. In her confusion Shepard was barely able to lift her blade, stopping Leng’s sword from finding purchase in her gut, but not quick enough to avoid being forced again to the rail again.

Leng laughed. She could feel his breath now as he leaned his weight to pin her there. “You know, when he told me to kill the Witness, I thought it might be a challenge,” he muttered, and Shepard’s brow knit. “I’m glad it was you.”

As Shepard moved to push him off and escape, time seemed at once to still and to skip by all too fast. Instead of hitting her, Leng gave one mighty kick to the damaged wood railing beneath her, and with a crack it gave way.

For half a moment Shepard felt the terrible rush of weightlessness as her footing failed. Her body scrabbled in panic to grab on to anything it could, letting her sword clatter to the deck. With one hand she found purchase. Her fist closed on Leng’s shirt and sword belt, forcing him to brace hard on what was left of the railing. A moment later Shepard realised that she was dangling over the edge; the only thing holding her to her ship was Leng.

“Ha!” The villains’ laugh was loud now as he saw her, disarmed and exposed. “The sea thirsts for your blood, Shepard! He will not be kept waiting.” Leng’s blade went up. There was nowhere to run now. Somehow, she knew that his ridiculous boast was true. If she released him and dropped into the sea, it would claim her, and fulfil whatever dark magic he had uttered. Running out of time, she did the only thing she could think.

“I’ve a message for your master!” Shepard reached up and caught a second handful of Leng’s shirt. She would take this bastard with her, if she were to fall, and sate the ocean with his blood. Placing both feet on the hull of her ship, she pushed off hard. She heard him give a cry as they were both caught in weightlessness again a moment, before plunging together into the cold, waiting sea.


	22. Troubled Waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to post this yet, but it's been a long year, friends. It's the first day of school here and I work at a school, and I need this tonight so I thought you might too! 
> 
> Buckle up, kids, this chapters has even more violence and horror! Be warned this one isn't for the squeamish.
> 
> Now let's try and get Shepard off that cliffhanger, shall we?

The moment before Shepard and her opponent hit the waters in the Bay of Belize, it had been unnaturally becalmed. The moment after, whether it was by magic or merely by time, the waves came back to life. Whether it was her blood or Leng’s which the sea had thirsted for so patiently, it had, it seemed, been sated for now.

Shepard gasped for air and forced her way to the surface. At once she felt the weight of hands dragging her down. As if in unison, a wave came up to wash her under. Sea water rushed over her, stinging her eyes and filling her ears. With air running out, Shepard fought to disentangle herself from Captain Leng, who now gripped at her arms, her legs, her shoulders. It felt as if the sea itself wished to swallow her, and his grip was strong as an anchor. Shepard clawed at him and at the water, fighting to surface and breath. Gasping, she caught a glimpse of the dark forms of the two massive ships towering over them, and realized their danger just in time to force the belligerent pirate between herself and harm’s way.

Another wave, tall and rapid, dashed them forward - straight into the  _ Normandy _ ’s hulk. Shepard felt Leng give a short shout of bubbles as she crashed into him and he crashed into the solid, dark wood. Whether he was dead or dazed, his form went limp. Shepard released him and quickly kicked and swam away.

With the wind in her sails again, the  _ Normandy _ started to pull away. But anchored as she was by so many grappling lines, it would tear her apart if she was not halted. Shepard’s priority however was to get back aboard.

The sea between the two ships was a flotsam of wood and bodies. But more than a few ropes hung down as well. Shepard grabbed the first she could and braced herself as another wave rushed upon her. She was dashed this time into the  _ Styx _ ’s hull, but held on tight, and got her footing as the wave passed. Hand over hand, she pulled herself up onto the enemy deck.

Shepard more rolled than stepped onto the damaged deck of the pirate ship. She had no weapon, but it was almost utterly abandoned. The pirates knew that their ship was all but sunk, after the  _ Normandy _ ’s many broadsides, and had put everything into boarding their foe.

As they realised that Shepard was not where she belonged, one of the two remaining sentries took a swing at her. As his blade came down Shepard blocked with the rope she had climbed taught in her hands, and kicked the boy overboard. The other sentry went down before he even knew what hit him.

Shepard could hear her crew react to the change in the sea, and quickly joined their efforts from her own side. Taking a handaxe off one of the pirates, she severed ties with the  _ Normandy  _ as quickly as she could.

“Williams!” She called out, in the hopes of calling attention to her position on the enemy ship. Williams was busy pinning down a pirate. “Vakarian!” she tried next.

Up on his roost in the fighting top, a golden rifle spun her way, though Vakarian was still reloading. His eyes went wide. “Shepard!” He called. It was her only warning.

A throttled choke forced itself between Shepard’s teeth as she was yanked backwards, a taught cord cutting suddenly against her throat. She flailed in panic a moment, hands flying to the rope about her neck, and could see above and behind her just enough to recognize her assailant. Or recognize what was left.

Gasping, she shoved an elbow back towards his face, then his ribs, then his arms, but he held on. Choking, Shepard collapsed to her knees and her attacker loomed over her, pulling the rope tighter about her throat. Her vision was fading, but with one hand she had the presence of mind to find the knife she stowed ever in her boot.

With a sudden rising turn and the very last of her breath, Shepard ensured the blade met flesh, and the horrible assault on her airways was finally released. Dark shapes and spots floated and flashed before her eyes as she gasped in hungry breaths.

“Why...” she panted, and took a nearly blind swing at the man now before her, “won’t….” he blocked her hand with the rope and tried to catch her, but Shepard spun out of the way “you…” she struck and he leapt back again, “...die!”

Thunder like cannon resounded. In a flash, all motion ceased as Captain Leng was stuck down. He fell to the deck, lifeless. Or nearly. 

As Shepard’s vision finally cleared, she saw him, laying now on the ground in a pool of blood, a cavernous wound ripped from his chest. Major Vakarian’s aim was sharp indeed, and his rifle deadly. But that was not all.

When they had fought, and fallen into the ocean, Kai Leng had had only one hand; the other a wooden stump, battered and cut. The man that had attacked her from behind, the man that now lay choking out his final breaths, had two. Or rather, had something else.

Shepard could do nothing but stand staring, mouth ajar, and try to blink away what she saw. The thing which lay before her was the size and shape of a man. It bore the distinct likeness of the infamous and presumed dead pirate captain Kai Leng. She was sure, in fact, that it was him. But it was equally something else.

He must have been in the water only a minute or so longer than she, but Leng’s flesh, what she could see of it, was marked not only by the knife wounds she herself had inflicted, but by a series of freshly raised welts; dozens of stinging red rings which had not been there before. The sores trailed in lines about his wrists and across his face, even over his eye; his false eye. Or where his false eye should have been. In its place however there was… Something else. Something not human. His left hand, likewise, which had not been there before, bore no five human fingers, but two protruding, elongated forms, twisted like tentacles, a sickly green and purple blotched grey, ill matched to the tone of his skin. Where Vakarian’s bullet had torn fabric and flesh Shepard could see other discolorations upon his chest. Whether they were the marks of tattoo ink or of anything else she could not tell.

Shepard stepped back in a shock of primeval panic at the sight and fought to overcome the bile rising in her throat. It could not, should not exist.  _ Destroy it  _ her mind protested. But no, she had to look. This was it. This was what she needed to understand. Trembling, she forced herself nearer, and slowly crouched beside his still shuddering form. She watched as Leng’s hand, his human hand, came to press vainly at his own gaping wound. His eyes were wide - both the dark, bloodshot eye on the right and it’s ghastly, primordial parody on the left. His blood stained mouth sputtered and formed nearly soundless words:

“That is not...dead… which…”

Captain Leng never finished his prophecy, but Shepard knew its end. His false god had not saved him. Neither had it killed her. But there was power here, beyond what she had seen.

“Commander!” Shepard jumped and finally tore her eyes from the now deceased creature before her. The voice was Williams, calling from across the way. Shepard stood and looked to see that her ship had, in her absence, stowed all sails and weighed anchor as quick as they could pull away. She tried to fill her mind with a quick analysis of what she could see- anything other than the body behind her on the floor. The damage the  _ HMS Normandy _ had suffered was mostly to her upper deck and railing, and could easily be repaired. Dr. Chakwas was already hurriedly bringing patients below. They had taken no prisoners.

“Well done, Lieutenant!” Shepard called back, her voice still a bit shaken. She took a moment to look around, still taking deep breaths just to prove that she could, and tried to let the realization sink in. They had won. They had faced the Threshers, and they had survived. The  _ Normandy _ crew had doubtless sustained losses, but nothing like the  _ Langston _ . The port of Belize was under Royal British protection once more.

Somehow, after seeing what had become of Captain Leng, even this did not feel like victory.

Nevertheless, the sea seemed freed from the grip of whatever had held it. The bay was clear and blue, but increasingly muddied now with blood. Something about this swirling mix told Shepard she must be wary of her next moves, or far worse than sharks would come, drawn to the gruesome flotsam.

She did not really know what had happened in their fight. One thing she knew for sure: The ship upon which she stood was sinking. It was taking on water, and fast. But perhaps it could be enough use to them. Alone on the ship, she dropped its anchor, not that it would move much, as low in the water as it sat.

She knew by some instinct, be it fear or insight, what must be done now, if only to rid the world of the creature formerly known as Kai Leng. “Lieutenant,” she called across the water again, “bring the  _ Normandy  _ as close as you can. I want all of the bodies put back aboard this ship. We are going to burn it.”

Williams had rightfully taken up the Commander’s place near the helm, and shouted back even over the few yards of sea between them, “What?” it was an odd command, for sure. Shepard repeated herself, and hoped that her reluctance to bury the dead at sea in the usual fashion would not be taken for pure superstition. If the sea could be sated with the blood of a wound, it might be glutted by the blood of a battle.

With her orders conveyed, Shepard knew she had limited time to prepare the ship for its final voyage and also discover whatever she could about its late Captain and about Cerberus. First she removed the jacket of the sentry whom she had slain, and used it to cover the mutant face and hands of Kai Leng before her own men came aboard. There was no time for them to marvel or wretch at the horror there.

Next she went to the Captains’ quarters. They were surprisingly well kept and organized. She did not have much time to inspect it, but grabbed a bag from under his bunk and filled it with all of the charts, papers, and manuscripts she could find. There was also - Shepard shuddered to even look on it but shoved it into her bag nonetheless - a mask. Simple, wooden, and painted with white designs of ghoulish and cephalopodic depiction upon which she did not wish to linger. There was little in the treasury box, though what there was she took. A ship like this ought to be carrying much more gold, or some other valuables, if for nothing else than to ensure pay of the crew. That was, unless they truly had been sent by some central hub for the express purpose of capturing herself and the  _ HMS Normandy _ . 

Outside, she could hear that her men had set up a plank between the two ships, and were moving bodies aboard. There was some question, she could overhear, as to the reason for or wisdom of this plan, but not enough to hinder its fulfilment or her crew’s obedience.

“Vega, with me. Bring a few men.” She strode back onto the now lilting deck, and made her way down to the lower levels, and toward where she knew the magazine would lie. If they wished to burn the bodies before they were claimed by the sea, they would need to reach the powder before it too was wet through.

The water was knee deep here, but with Vega on her heels it did not take long to get a line set up by which the most flammable materials were salvaged. Shepard went to check the hold for any other clues to the vessel’s origin, intent, or cargo. She set a few more men to salvage what food they could from the mess, but the water was rising.

It was just before she turned back to the way up that she heard it; a gasp for breath and a banging noise from below.

“Commander,” Vega was with her a moment after, “There’s someone else aboard.”

Shepard nodded, and motioned him to follow. The ship was listing in earnest now, and there was just enough clearance to enter the lowest deck. Shepard was already soaked through by her swim, and so let herself back down into the dark, cold water filling the hold, with just enough room to keep her head between water and ceiling.

“Hello?” She called.

“Careful, Commander.” Vega offered her a sword he had picked off one of the pirates, but Shepard waved it away.

“ _ Agh _ !” The voice was rage and frustration, choked with water and accompanied by a bang of iron. It was hard to see anything here, but Shepard soon realised where she was. A brig. The pirates had not left a crewman behind, but a prisoner, left to drown. She would have to work quickly now. 

Diving under the dark water, Shepard felt her way across a criss-cross of flat iron caging towards the cell door and gave it a tug. No good. Sher surfaced again for breath.

“Push up with me,” She sputtered over the waterline. She could hardly see the man in the dark, but he appeared to nod. Shepard went under again, planting her feet as best she could on the parts of metal that were not on the door and lifting upwards. If you couldn’t break a lock, break a hinge. Years ago, her father had taught her that, having locked himself out of his own barn. Now she and the stranger pulled up in time once, twice, three times. At last, the door shifted. It wasn’t enough. Shepard moved her feet to the floor, lifting up so hard it felt like her palms would bleed.

After a too-long moment in the utter dark, when she thought she could lift no more and her lungs screamed for air, the door gave way. She and the prisoner both gasped to the surface, faces pressed nearly into the wood above them, and Shepard led them back to Vega, who waited with a lantern he had found.

“Thank you,” their new friend spoke at last as they pulled themselves up the sinking stairs. Vega stared a moment, his mouth open, and Shepard also did a double take.

The former captive was in fact a woman, tucking long dark locks of wet hair behind her ears. Shepard almost rolled her eyes. A real savior of women she had turned out to be. On instinct she went to give the lady her jacket, but it was as soaked through as she. Vega supplied his own, for the little good it did her. The woman mutterd her thanks again as Shepard led them up. As curious as she was, she would need to set aside this mystery for later. The water was rising. They needed to get off this ship, and fast.

“Mr. Vega, please escort our new friend aboard, get her dried off and something to eat and drink in my cabin.” Shepard instructed. “Are you injured?”

“No… I’m fine.” Her voice was a bit shaken, but confident in her reply. Her eyes darted around, taking in the state of the  _ Styx  _ and the  _ Normandy _ , and the pile of bodies ready to be burnt.

“Good. Dr. Chakwas has enough on his hands.” Shepard did not mean to be brisk with the young woman, clearly traumatized. She did not know what would lead someone to be a captive of these vile men, but she did not want to guess. But the woman would have to wait. First, she would rid the seas forever of the Thresher Maws, and at once rob the deep of its sacrifice.

Shepard herded her men back onto the  _ Normandy _ , and crossed the gangplank herself. Taking up a lantern from the  _ Styx _ , she tossed it onto the deck and gave orders to make haste away. The fire caught at once, and if her men had acted well, it would burn more than explode over the next thirty or so minutes, giving them time to be well clear. Best not to take any chances.

Friar Krios was on deck, offering what last rites he could in the general direction of the doomed ship as they pulled away.

For several long minutes relative silence held, as each of the crew took what felt like the first real breaths of the day. 

Then the ship behind them exploded.

“East by north-east, Mr. Moreau,” Shepard instructed, her voice tired, as she tried to put the incident behind her as quickly as possible. They would not return to port yet. First, she must ensure there were no other ships waiting just outside the bay. She set a watch, and went first to check on Dr. Chakwas.

The forward half of the gunroom had been co-opted to expand the sickbay, and the good doctor had her hands full stemming the flow of blood from various members of the crew. A handful, Shepard surmised, were already lost. It could not be helped. But those who remained looked stable. Chakwas was good at what she did, and Shepard was glad that the battle was no bloodier than it was.

As she entered, Lt. Alenko stood to greet her, with bandages wrapped around his upper arm and around his crown.

“At ease, Lieutenant,” Shepard greeted him as he raised a hand to salute. His hands were bloody, as he had been made assistant to the doctor’s work. “What’s the situation here?” She did not wish to take Chakwas away from her patients.

“Ten men are dead, Commander, and another twenty more badly injured,” came the grim report. Still, ten men out of a crew of just under two-hundred was a better number than she had hoped for before the battle. They would be buried at sea, when Shepard deemed it safe and proper to do so. Until then, she entrusted Chakwas, Alenko, and their charges into the grace of God and bid them carry on their good work.

The watch reported no further sail, so Shepard ordered them back to Belize and left Williams in charge. At last she returned to her cabin to finally change out of her soaking clothes.

There was a woman sitting in her chair.

Ah. Yes.

Shepard pressed her forehead and struggled to summon the wherewithal to greet her newest passenger. “Forgive me, miss…” 

“Lawson,” came the reply, quiet after so loud a morning. “Miranda Lawson.” Miss Lawson had an accent that Shepard could not quite place. Her voice was confident, as if she expected Shepard to know her name. She did not. Miranda sat up straight, her eyes attentive. Her dark hair was loose behind her shoulders and still very wet, but her dress was dry, or as dry as it could be, and Shepard surmised it was one of Liara’s, although one she had not yet seen; simple, practical, and cream colored, with a dark trim. The archeologist herself sat nearby. She stood now, as Shepard entered.

“Commander, are you alright?”.

Shepard only now realised that she must have more than a few marks of blood on her, including what would probably be a rather nasty bruise around her throat. She reached for a handkerchief, but hers were soaked through.

Liara was quick to her rescue, producing a dry handkerchief of her own, which Shepard was soon pressing beneath her blood-stained nose. “Thank you, Dr. T’Soni,” she managed. “I am glad to see that you are well.” Shepard did her best to wipe off her face and hands, and turned back to their newest guest.

Liara nodded, her eyes still filled with worry, but gave no voice further to her obvious concern.

“I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Miss Lawson.” Shepard took a heavy seat to join the two women at the table, and took a deep breath in and out. One never knew how much their bones ached for rest until they sat down. Still, there were matters to attend. Where to even begin? “I apologize for any oversight on your welcome aboard, ma’am. I’m sure you can understand.” Miranda nodded, and Shepard continued in a tired voice, “I must say, you are just about the last thing I expected to find aboard the  _ Styx _ . I was hoping you might tell us how all this came about.” The words felt automatic, and hollow. Despite all of her concerns and curiosity, the image of Kai Leng’s mottled body weighed heavy in her mind, pressing out all other thoughts, and making focusing on conversation a struggle. She looked up at the woman who nodded again, looking at her hands, brow furrowed as she apparently thought hard on her reply. “In your own time, if you are able” Shepard added for good measure.

Lawson nodded again, and finally spoke. “I will tell you what I can… Commander,” she gave the title a testing tone. “And I thank you for coming to my aid. But it might be in both of our best interests, if I…” she hesitated, “kept the details of my story to myself.”

“Ah.” Shepard here gave a sigh and a nod. Liara reached forward and took the other woman’s hand across the table.

“It’s alright,” the archeologist comforted. “You’re safe here.”

Miranda, however, kept her eyes on Shepard.

“If you… have seen things which you… upon which you do not wish to dwell, Miss Lawson, I - that is we - understand, if you follow me.” Shepard did not know how to be delicate about this, and as interested as she was in hearing this woman’s testimony, and whatever insight it might bring into the cult, she also very much wished for a moment to collect herself after the battle she had fought. And to put on a dry set of clothes.

Now it was Miranda’s turn to look confused, but in a moment realization dawned. “Oh!” She all but gasped, but her tone remained steady and factual. “You must be the Witness. I wondered if you were real.”

Shepard could only open her mouth, bewildered. 

“You must know all about it, then,” Lawson continued, unhelpfully.

Shepard wondered briefly if this were some sort of test. “I was hoping that you could tell me a bit more about the pirates, the Threshers.”

Lawson gave her a look. “They’re not important,” she said casually of the men who had held her captive and left her to drown. “But I can tell you about Cerberus, if you can promise me two assurances, Commander.”

Shepard’s brows raised in surprise. “And what might those be?”

“First, that of protection.” Shepard was about to interrupt that this promise, of course, the young woman would have, to the utmost of Shepard’s ability, but Miranda continued; “If you wish to hear my story, I need assurance that no matter what I may confess to you here and now, you and your men will neither detain nor deliver me unto any court of law.” The young woman’s tone was straightforward and firm in her request, and her face pleasant and passive.

Shepard’s eyes went wide and she blinked, as Liara looked rapidly back between Miranda and the Commander. This woman was more than some innocent victim. But if she were a pirate, why had she been locked away and left for dead by the rest of the crew? Shepard’s curiosity held her captive.

“And the second?” she asked, to forestall her oath.

“I need your assurance, Commander that you will, if you are able, utterly destroy Cerberus.”

Shepard paused a moment in solemn thought, and acquiesced. “Tell me what you know.” 


End file.
